


among the roses and the stars

by nefertiti



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Grantaire Is Really Bad At Feelings, New Year's Eve, Rule 63, Sexual Content, Tattoos, all your faves are queer ladies, im embarrassed for them both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefertiti/pseuds/nefertiti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Enjolras is that she’s awful and Grantaire meant that in both the awe-inspiring way and the terrible way.  Social norms were not her thing. She was cold and harsh. Her words were like unsheathed daggers, ready to pierce at the slightest disturbance. She thought warmness and love and flowers and butterflies were nice, but only in theory. Only because other people thought they were important. Nothing was more important to her than justice and anyone who disagreed with her fundamentally was, in her eyes, not worth arguing with. Having regular sex with her didn’t change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. without stars and without flowers

 

They met on New Year’s Eve at a party that a friend of a friend of a friend threw.

(The only reason that Grantaire even went was because Jehan had begged her to come with her so she wouldn’t be alone and then she’d fucked off five minutes after they arrived when she saw someone she knew from class and left Grantaire by herself.

Not that Grantaire minded.

It just meant that the bar was going to be her friend for the night.)

She remembered seeing her across the room, the blonde divinity standing in the midst of revelry. She was wearing a short, black dress and her blonde curls were tousled artfully as they flowed past her shoulders. Her make-up was light and practically nonexistent. She was a golden beauty exuding a strange sense of authority; she stood out in the sea of smiling faces.

She was the only person Grantaire noticed for the night.

The only person worth noticing.

And while her exquisiteness _was_ noteworthy, she stood out in more ways than one.

For the most part she looked miserable, which was something Grantaire thought was impossible when Icona Pop was playing. Strobe lights of every colour were flashing around her and she looked like she wanted to singlehandedly dismantle the lighting system herself.

When she walked over to the bar Grantaire was sitting at, she didn’t walk. She stomped. And for some bizarre reason Grantaire found it endearing. It’s what made her want to walk up to her in the first place. She’s always had a thing for the unapproachable.

Grantaire supposed that with all her tattoos and piercings, she looked a bit unapproachable too. She wore her hair long, although she often got irritated with it and cut it short only to grow it out again; she preferred it past her shoulders like it was tonight. She was wearing a black crop top and black denim jeans. Cloaking herself in black with red lips was typical for her, she liked it when most of her tattoos and piercings were visible, slight pudginess be damned.

Grantaire was aware of how she looked. Her nose was crooked, her teeth were always stained with wine, she was in that awkward place between not that short and not that tall and she was only _just_ starting to get her abs back by getting out of her slump of inactivity.

She distracted from all of it with her tattoos and piercing, with her cleavage, her bright lipstick and her wild, black hair. On her best day she looked “okay” and on her worst day she looked like a homeless person. It was something she’d accepted a long time ago. In fact she thought she made up for it with her A+ personality- that is at least until you got to know her well enough- and her charm. So she wasn’t feeling that self conscious when she saddled up next to the beautiful woman and smiled at her.  

However when the girl glared at her for daring to sit down, she decided to cut her losses and leave while she still had her pride.

Something flashed across the yellow haired goddess’ face when she stood up too quick for Grantaire to decipher and she grabbed her arm and stopped her from walking away.

“Ugh wait I’m sorry.” She sighed releasing her arm. “I’m just not really one for parties. It’s a free country.” She gestured to the seat Grantaire had just risen from. The girl obviously had no sense of what social niceties were necessary at clubs because she was being way too open for this kind of scene. It was another thing Grantaire found endearing.

Grantaire considered sitting down again when the woman glanced at the two girls who were aggressively making out next to them and wrinkled her nose at the display. She pointed at one of the girls (or both of them who could tell from that tangle of limbs?), her voice acerbic,

“That’s my friend. She’s the one who dragged me here actually. I’m assuming that her resolution this year is to get an STD. Do you want to say hi?”

“No I think I’ll leave them to it.” Grantaire replied taking her seat again. She was far more amused than her companion was it seemed, and far more sympathetic.

She’d been one of those girls more times than she could count, halfway close to fucking some nameless person on a barstool. She could empathize. “They look like they’re having fun at least.”

“Yes well, the entire point of me being here tonight was because my friends think I need to have more fun.” She stirred her barely touched drink with a droll air.

The room was smoky and dark. Lights were flashing and the music was loud, albeit less loud from where they were sitting. Everything about this club looked like the _place to have fun_ really and Grantaire said as much.

 “Do I look like the life of the party then?”

“’Course you do. I’m pretty sure you’re about five seconds away from serving at the altar of some wine goddess of revelry or the other. _Let us drink and be merry and sing_...”

“I’ve never been a fan of drinking.” The girl looked arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at her.

“Well we’re worlds apart then?” Grantaire shrugged.

“I’m Enjolras.” She said giving her a short nod.

“Grantaire.” She replied since they were obviously foregoing first names.

(Grantaire had referred to herself by her last name for as long as she could remember in any case. She never did like her own name.)

“What do you do then, if not drink?”

“I’m in grad school. I’m studying law. Most of my spare time I spend studying or in this club that I’m in. It’s a social justice type thing.” Enjolras replied and for some reason she sounded stilted and awkward as she said that, but Grantaire really didn’t know her well enough to ask why. “What about you?”

“I’m a tattooist.” Grantaire smirked gesturing at the ridiculous amount of tattoos on her body that were visible. “I did most of these actually.”

“They’re lovely.” Enjolras replied diplomatically and Grantaire chuckled.

“Yeah you don’t look like the type to have ink.”

“I’ve always wanted a tattoo actually. I keep saying I’d get one eventually but I just never actually got around to it. My friends say it’s because I’m no fun.” Enjolras rolled her eyes at that. “They’re really obsessed with that word I think.”

“Aw and here I had taken you for Venus, but perhaps I should take that back. I’ll call you Athena then, a fair haired Minerva. You’ll be the patroness of wisdom and inspiration tonight; the goddess of justice and intelligence.”

Enjolras looked shocked, like she didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or to walk away from her and well, Grantaire certainly did have that effect. Eventually she just settled on asking- “Okay then. If I’m Athena, then who are you?”

“Ah I am Eris of course; goddess of discord.” Grantaire smiled into her drink before draining it completely. Enjolras obviously wasn’t expecting an answer because a startled laugh burst from her lips. “Or Amphictyonis; goddess of wine and friendship...or no. Maybe I’m not a goddess.  No if anything, in a past life, I was a devout worshiper of Bacchus. I bent my knees to Dionysus and revelled in wine and debauchery.”

“Does this usually work for you?” Enjolras asked after a moment, when Grantaire had gotten another beer, and she didn’t look irritated just amused. “The whole mythology shtick.”

Truthfully Grantaire had never actually taken to waxing lyrical with random people at bars, but she wasn’t about to tell Enjolras that. She just shrugged noncommittally.

Enjolras was about to speak when she glanced left and noticed that her friend had gone off. She looked at the empty seat where her friend had disappeared and sighed. “I should go find her. I’m her ride.”

“Yes well I’m sure she’s having a ride somewhere.” Grantaire mumbled into her drink.

Enjolras’ cheeks had turned bright red and Grantaire almost felt bad but she was inappropriate to the core so that didn’t stop her from saying- “You know how sex works right? I mean I just want to make sure that I’m not giving a weird, half tipsy, sex ed lesson here.”

“I didn’t mean-I’m not a virgin if that’s what you’re asking.” And if it was possible for her face to get redder, it did. “I’ve just rarely had the time recently.”

“Do you have the time now?” Grantaire smirked. And Grantaire still doesn’t comprehend how that line worked for her but it did and she brought in the New Year being fucked very thoroughly against a bathroom stall.

 

* * *

 

 

She didn’t think much about that encounter again (except for the part where she really couldn’t stop thinking about Enjolras and her voice and her smell and her hair- who even has hair like that?).

 Jehan had apologized very profusely and very, very loudly when she came home that night and face planted into the sofa. She claimed that she had met some friends and she didn’t even realise how long she spent talking to them (and drinking with them as the evidence showed) and that she’d lost track of time. Grantaire had just kissed her on the forehead and let her pass out on the sofa.

 

Life went on after the holidays were over.  

 

She was back to work after a week.

Her parlour was small. It probably looked messy to outsiders or people who weren’t regulars. There were sketches and pictures of completed tattoos scattered everywhere. She thought it was more convenient for potential clients to just pick up drawings and pictures of the work she and Eponine had done so they’d know what they were getting into, which led to pieces of paper and sketchpads lying everywhere. Her station however, was pristine.

When she walked in, she was more than shocked to see her favourite (not that she’d ever admit that to her) customer already sitting waiting to be marked, chatting up Cosette.

Cosette was a great receptionist. She looked so out of place at the parlour with all her pastels and headbands and sundresses, but she was the best receptionist Grantaire’s ever had. She knew how to deal with even the drunkest, rowdiest customer and send them away with a smile. Her toughness cloaked itself in flowers and rainbows and bunny rabbits. She was just like Jehan. A rose so beautiful that you forgot it had thorns.

Bahorel grinned at her when she walked in and Grantaire lifted a brow. “Weren’t you in here just last week?”

“Aww you know me sugar.” Bahorel crooned, flipping her flaming red hair behind her and blowing her a kiss. “I just can’t stay away from you.”

“Oh baby, baby, baby.” Grantaire replied dryly.

Cosette smiled at her when she came closer, but it was tinted with a touch of worry. “Eponine’s not coming in today. Gavroche got sick last night and Azelma’s going to school this week so she can’t stay home with him.” Well that explained the worry. Eponine and Cosette’s relationship was new and she wasn’t used to the hectic mess that Eponine’s life usually was. “Apparently there’s a new guy that Azelma has a crush on so she’s probably going to have a perfect attendance this year, at least until she gets bored. Eponine says that she’s sorry and she’ll take him to the clinic today and she’ll be back by tomorrow.”

Grantaire just nodded at Cosette’s fast paced speech and waved her hand in compliance. Eponine was like family to her. She could probably miss an entire month’s work and Grantaire would still keep her on.

Grantaire really wasn’t meant to be a businesswoman.

Cosette took that with a smile and left her with Bahorel who had grown disinterested with their conversation and was idly flipping through a book of potential tattoo sketches that Grantaire kept in the back.

“What am I doing for you today?” Grantaire asked nudging Bahorel back into awareness.

She grinned at her and made to ruck up her shirt. “You know what I realised yesterday?”

Grantaire gestured as if to say “Amaze me.”

“I have every conceivable cliché of a tattoo and yet I still don’t have a tramp stamp.”

“Lemme guess?” Grantaire asked, grinning despite herself. “You want a butterfly?”

 Bahorel had taken it upon herself to get every stereotypically ridiculous tattoo in existence.

When she came for her first tattoo from Grantaire, she literally got ‘Water’ in Chinese on her arm and told everyone it meant ‘Peace’. She researched it and everything to make sure it was actually saying the wrong thing.

Grantaire for one could appreciate the irony.

“You know me so well.”

 

When Grantaire got home, Jehan was abuzz in the kitchen. Grantaire cringed. She wasn’t the best cook, but she could feed herself without getting food poisoning. Jehan on the other hand; Grantaire didn’t know which god she should pray to, to get her to just stop cooking.

Jehan’s cooking was probably the only bad part of being her roommate.

 

Jehan and Grantaire met at a slam poetry night in a dingy cafe, when she still called herself Jean and had an awful buzz cut. Weirdly enough Grantaire was the one who was (very drunkenly) giving a performance that night. She’d drank more than she should have and then proceeded to go up on stage and give one of her famous ‘drunken rants’. Then Jehan had come up to her after to commend her on her delivery:

“You really seemed like you were tipsy. It’s refreshing to see people actually care about the performance part of performance art.”

Grantaire then went on to throw up all over her shoes. Classy. But Jehan was never not an absolute darling and she herded her to the bathroom and helped Grantaire clean herself up before attending to herself. Grantaire called her up a few days later- because Jean was the type of person to exchange numbers with the crazy, drunk lady who threw up on her- to meet up for coffee in apology.

Their friendship progressed quickly from there. In two months they were living together. In a year they were dating each other. In three years they were broken up, finished with college (well, on Grantaire’s part) and _still_ living together, not because they couldn’t afford decent flats on their own, what with Jehan being a trust fund baby and Grantaire being a respectable business owner, but because they’d lived with each other for so long that it just felt wrong not to.

 

“So...” Grantaire stated as she walked into the kitchen hesitantly. “We’re getting take-out then?”

“You’re not funny.” And Grantaire could tell that she rolled her eyes without even seeing her face.

“Wasn’t trying to be.” She muttered under her breath and then she rose her voice. “Weren’t you supposed to be out this evening?”

“I was. Do you remember that group that I was talking about on the phone with you yesterday?”

“Vaguely. The feminist group right? The one where you all sit about and braid each other’s hair and masturbate to Gloria Steinem?”

Jehan rolled her eyes. “The head of our group actually has very...interesting views on Steinem. That’s beside the point.” Jehan waved the hand that wasn’t stirring the pot. “You’ve been promising to come to them with me for the past year. Most of my friends that you don’t already know are in the club and I really want you to meet them. You’ll like them. I promise. ”

“Outside of you and Bahorel, I probably won’t.”

“Grantaire!”

“Speaking of, she asked about you today.” Grantaire said changing the subject as she sat by their breakfast nook (which was really just a tiny table and a few stools in walking distance from their kitchen, but Jehan insisted that it was a nook and who was Grantaire to say that she was wrong.)

Jehan hummed, setting the pasta with congealed green sauce onto a plate and setting it in front of Grantaire. “What did she get this time?”

“Tramp stamp.” Grantaire replied looking at the questionable food in front of her.

“I saw her at the meeting tonight. You should with me come with me next time!” Jehan sighed as she doled out some pasta for herself.

“You and I both know that I don’t give a shit about your activism bullcrap.” Grantaire replied.

“You and _I_ both know that that’s a lie.” Jehan said sitting opposite her and looking at her severely.

“Everything’s a lie then.” Grantaire uttered grumpily. “This food is a lie. This flat is a lie. The cake is a lie. We’re all li-.”

Jehan rolled her eyes, quite used to Grantaire and her spiels; she cut it off before she could go any further. “You don’t have to be contrary about everything. It’s unbecoming of you.”

Grantaire chose not to respond to that, instead she dangled the pitiful excuse for spaghetti on her fork. “This shit really does suck though.”

Jehan grumbled lightly before taking a bite and then making a face. “...Perhaps we should get take-out?”

Grantaire just laughed.

 

 

Grantaire didn’t take her up on her offer until late spring. Everything about Paris felt brighter in the spring. The leaves were newly bathed with the morning dew. Flowers of many colours were springing up from the grass. The birds were soaring through the sky, making their homes on the branches of isolated trees. The Seine glittered in the night and gleamed in the day. The sun shined more often than not and when it rained it was a fleeting caress against your skin. It was one of the reasons that Grantaire adored Paris.

It made you want to stop and breathe in everything around for a day or two and just pause.

 And Grantaire was busier than ever.

Her shop was starting to get something of a reputation thanks to her experiments with watercolour tattoos and she was booked solid for the month, which rarely happened. She was just used to dealing with walk-ins and a few regulars.

Still, there were only so much doe eyes and sad disappointed looks that Grantaire could take, not to mention Bahorel’s loud whining about _why she’s purposefully leaving her with all the serious people who are only_ barely _decent at throwing a punch_.

Grantaire caved.

She let Jehan drag her to her convention of bra burners without much complaint. When she told Jehan it was because she was too busy to complain Jehan just laughed her off. Grantaire was never too busy to complain.

It didn’t matter though. She would just go one night to appease Jehan and then she’d never have to come back again.

That train of thought vanished immediately when she saw her standing in the middle of the room.

She didn’t even notice her at first, which in retrospect seemed impossible. The first thing she noticed was the group of people sitting around the cafe with their eyes glued to the front, as though they were hanging off every word that the person was saying. Then she looked up and it made sense.

She wasn’t sure if this was the best or the worst decision she’d ever made. Her eyes were wide and she glared at Jehan accusingly. Technically she never told Jehan about that night, she made no mention of Enjolras or that she even talked to anyone at all that night but Grantaire wasn’t exactly thinking rationally.

Two girls were standing beside Enjolras, a tiny girl with freckles and hair almost as wild as hers, and a tall girl with a pixie cut and glasses. They were both incredibly pretty, but with them standing next to Enjolras, she barely noticed.

She sat down in the back where no one needed to see her or know that she existed. Jehan frowned but sat next to her nonetheless. She didn’t need to acknowledge anything. She could just sit and listen to what they had to say and not think about hot and dirty sex in a bathroom stall.

All of that flew out of the window when Jehan- of course- decided to interrupt Enjolras to say hi. She schooled her face into something less frantic and smiled as Jehan introduced her shyly.

Some people turned and nodded at her briefly, a few of them smiling, before turning back. Enjolras looked thrown for about a moment before she started talking again. And if she was beautiful in the dark, smoky cloudy room while Grantaire was half-drunk, now she was unearthly. It took Grantaire a few minutes to even begin to listen to her. She looked like an avenging angel, hair flinging wildly, her hands raised in defiance.

Ever since she started taking her tattooing seriously, Grantaire hadn’t really had time for painting, but now her fingers itched for a paintbrush. Maybe she’d paint her as La Liberté Guidant le Peuple. That’s what she looked like; the forceful leader of the masses there to guide them through torment for justice and peace.

That train of thought was interrupted when Enjolras stood in front of her, the two girls who were standing with her, trailing behind. Jehan was somewhere in front talking to Bahorel and Grantaire really must have been daydreaming to have missed her getting up and leaving.

“ I-“

“We have to introduce ourselves to all potential members.” Enjolras said bluntly interrupting whatever Grantaire was about to say.

“What Enjolras means to say,” The one with the hair blinked strangely at Enjolras before blinding Grantaire with a bright smile. “Is that we’re happy to meet you. It’s always good to see new blood around here and Jehan’s told us a lot about you.” When Grantaire looked at her closer, she realised that she was Enjolras’ friend who was with her that night. It was the hair that made her stand out.

“All lies I’m sure.” Grantaire smiled taking her outstretched hand. She didn’t even know that people still shook hands, but when in Rome and all that.

The one with the glasses smiled kindly. “It was all good. I promise.”

“Definitely lies then.” Grantaire gestured for them to take a seat.

The three of them sat down and immediately began talking about the meeting and trying to get her opinion on it. They wove her into the conversation so seamlessly that she didn’t even have the time to be taken by surprise.

Enjolras didn’t make any mention of the fact that she knew Grantaire, but she drilled her on her knowledge of Fanon, Marx, Condorcet, Kant and Montesquieu. She asked her opinion on Mirabeau and Louise Michel, Dmitrieff and almost every political theorist or person that even had the slightest political opinion in the history of...well everything. She wasn’t sure how well she passed that test because Enjolras’ gaze upon her remained scrutinizing.

The one who introduced herself as Combeferre started to talk about their last rally and what they needed to do differently the next time. Grantaire was only vaguely interested in what they did, but listening to them talk was fascinating.

 “France is at the top of the world.” Enjolras was stating plainly. “And Paris is its centre. That is something we should be able to capitalize on.”

“Well it’s easy to say that.” Combeferre’s mouth twisted into a frown. “But we have our troubles here as in every other country.”

“Yes, and we try to fix what we can.” Enjolras responded. “We just have to be more detailed about all of our actions and how we carry them about.”

“The timing with everything we do always has to be specific.” The one with the hair explained most likely for Grantaire’s benefit. “The real trouble we have lies in rousing people into action and not just dormant anger.”

Grantaire has never not had a big mouth, so she added- “Well as they say, to err is human. To loaf is Parisian.”

The one with the hair laughed and she was about to open her mouth to say something when Enjolras frowned reproachfully - “I’ve always hated that quote. There’s more to being Parisian than just laziness.”

And apparently she wasn’t going to say anything right tonight so she just replied:

“Nothing of consequence.”

Enjolras didn’t even bother answering her; she just looked at her with vague disapproval before turning away and talking to the one with the glasses.

**

 “Her name is Combeferre.” Jehan rolled her eyes after Grantaire finished telling her everything, omitting any mention of the weird mythology thing she was doing and the really strange urge to paint Enjolras as Delacroix’s Liberté. “ _And the one with the hair_ is Courfeyrac.”

“And that’s what you take away from this story?” Grantaire stared at Jehan incredulously from her place on the couch.

“I just...I need a moment to actually think of Enjolras having sex, having casual sex and not get freaked out by it.” Jehan scooted closer to her.

“Yeah. I got the vibe that that wasn’t something she did often?” Grantaire phrased it as a question because she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to find out more about Enjolras if she could.

“We used to call her the red virgin. I think she was pleased by the comparison though. I mean she’s had one or two girlfriends before of course.” Jehan shrugged. “But they were all long term relationships. I just can’t imagine her treating any aspect of her life casually. Ever. Everything she does, every decision she makes always seems so deliberate and made with such care. Even her impulsiveness seems planned. It’s daunting sometimes. She’s just never been _that person_.”

Oh. So that night was a fluke then. And Grantaire really needed to shake herself off, because she was genuinely getting disappointed about a one night stand.

“You should still come back though.” Jehan wrapped her arms around Grantaire’s shoulders. “It sounded like you were interested in what we do, even if it was just _vaguely_.”

Grantaire grumbled and rested her head on Jehan’s shoulder but she didn’t give a discernible response. She even wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to go back. Awkward situations were not something she liked putting herself through and the crazy beautiful one night stand who quite possibly didn’t ever want to see her again, was awkward enough for a lifetime.

 

She went back.

Not only because of Enjolras, she told herself. She really did want to meet Jehan’s friends and she’d sort of abandoned the idea that night in favour of running out of the door after Enjolras and her friends left, the moment Jehan took her eyes off of her for a minute.

She was glad that she did come back.

She didn’t really focus on any other face except one when she was there before but this time when she came she noticed Feuilly and Bossuet, who had gotten a few of their tattoos done by her and Joly who she met in college in an eerily similar way to the way she met Enjolras and Marie who used to come by the shop to talk to Cosette. It was something of a relief that she didn’t have to ‘make new friends’ so to speak, but just get reacquainted with people she already knew.

It was easier. Even with the people she had to start fresh with. Courfeyrac had taken a liking to her thankfully, and Combeferre, whose gaze was sometimes inexplicably searching, seemed to like her too.

Enjolras didn’t really speak to her much again and Grantaire tried not to let it bother her. She was a one night stand, if she could even be called that. Just some random fuck that happened to be prettier than what Grantaire usually went home with. That was it.

When she came to the second meeting Enjolras just looked at her funnily and her voice was stiff as she said: “I didn’t we’d see you again. Well we’re always happy to have new possible members.” Before walking to the front of the room and bending her head over a book Combeferre was reading.

The meeting, when it started seemed to consist of less Enjolras giving a speech and more of the other members having interloping discussions.

It didn’t take much prodding from Jehan to get her to keep going back.

She really did like Jehan’s friends and being able to listen to Enjolras speak words of righteousness and see her face aglow with fire every once in a while was just a plus.

 

How she got Eponine and Cosette to start going was a different story. For one, she didn’t even ask them to come initially. They said they were beginning to grow weary with what they called her “ridiculous fawning” which Grantaire really thought was uncalled for. She didn’t fawn. She didn’t even know the word. She watched with intrigue if anything. No one could deny that Enjolras was a captivating speaker once they’d heard her.

After much teasing and hinting she dragged them with her after work one evening (because well fuck it if she was going to keep going to The Musain with only Jehan and Bahorel’s unbridled enthusiasm to keep her company) which turned out to be a huge fucking mistake. Cosette- the traitor- who’d never before shown even an ounce of revolutionary fervour, interrupted Courfeyrac’s speech to quote fucking Lenin which then immediately made everyone fall half in love with her. Then again Cosette tended to have that effect on you regardless.

Eponine seemed to be the only one who to have some form of desire to preserve Grantaire’s sanity, so she just sat in the back with her and drank and chatted with her as though there wasn’t even a meeting going on. She only paused in her conversation with Grantaire to laugh at something Combeferre was saying before turning back to her and saying “Are they seriously _all_ that full of shit?” and ignoring the shocked glances directed towards her.

Gods bless that Eponine.

Grantaire’s admiration of Eponine’s tenacity lasted for all of an hour.

That was when Marie came by.

She bumbled into the meeting late, with papers flying out of her knapsack and light brown hair falling out of a ponytail. She sat at the back, next to both of them which was fine, until she took out a copy of A Clash Of Kings and Eponine went stupid for a minute or two until she started babbling like a moron about it.

Grantaire glanced at Cosette helplessly who was looking at the three of them with unconcealed amusement as Eponine and Marie’s conversation got more enthusiastic by the minute.

And there she had lost her only ally in the silent but unwavering war of wills against the wide-eyed.

Still she kept going back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere along the line Grantaire had stopped referring to them as ‘Jehan’s friends’ and started calling them _her_ friends. Eponine, Cosette and her had fit into the group like they were just meant to be there. Jehan was unbearably smug when this happened, but Grantaire didn’t really have the footing to tell her she was wrong.

She found new drinking partners in Joly and Bossuet.

She found someone she could discuss art and styles with in a much more detailed way than she did with Jehan in Feuilly.

She started taking up kickboxing again with the help of Bahorel.

Combeferre became her newest client, surprisingly revealing a stomach and thighs already filled with artwork. She was planning on starting on her back with Grantaire. She wanted a vine of cherry blossoms to cascade down from the nape of her neck to the small of her back and Grantaire couldn’t even laugh at the cliché with how earnest she was in explaining how much the symbolism of humanity meant to her.

Courfeyrac was like the hyperactive little sister she already had in Cosette and they both took astoundingly great pleasure in teasing her about everything, from her clothes (which was fucking perfect thank you very much) to her growing infatuation with their fearless leader.

And that...that was a whole new category.

She was astoundingly good at keeping the entire thing a secret, that is until she and Enjolras began to argue. A lot.

Their arguments tended to be teasing (on Grantaire’s side) and intense (on Enjolras’).

Jehan was right. Grantaire loved being contrary.

Enjolras idolised Ségolène Royal so obviously Grantaire saw it fit to criticize her shitty thoughts on foreign policy. She respected Rousseau so Grantaire talked loudly and often about his misogynistic, paternalistic views on women’s rights. She loathed Nietzsche so Grantaire decided to extol his wisdom and quote him at every given opportunity.

Yet no matter how severe it got, Grantaire couldn’t seem to be able to keep the fondness out of her eyes during their disputes.

This game was probably more amusing to Grantaire than it was to Enjolras, who would look at Grantaire with an almost unbearable amount of disdain when it happened.

Jehan said that their arguments were like being in the front seat to a war and she was probably right.

They both used their words as shields and arrows, a thrust to the side and a blow to the face.

Grantaire was a skilled fighter. She could duck and feint with the best of them, missing every shot intended to wound, but sometimes- _sometimes_ -she would slip and a blow would land in its intended destination.

Grantaire would smirk and her eyes would twinkle as her words cut deeper and Enjolras’ face would in twist pure fury and spit her words like they were venom, venom that poisoned Grantaire’s thoughts and left her floundering and unable to argue back.

(Grantaire, a masochist at heart, would find herself replaying those moments over and over in her bed with her hands down her pants and Enjolras’ name on the tip of her lips.)

Enjolras’ words were like bullets and Grantaire’s were like a sword and there _was_ that saying about bringing a knife to a gunfight.

 

It was around that time that Grantaire started trying to fuck Enjolras out of her system. As if that ever worked.

The barrage of tall, auburn or brunette or ginger-just anything but blonde- conquests that left her flat at odd hours in the morning was beginning to concern Jehan but Grantaire just brushed her off whenever she tried to talk to her about it.

They helped in their odd little way.

It also helped Grantaire to know that even with everything; she wasn’t in love with Enjolras, not like Courfeyrac teased or Jehan suggested. So there was still some semblance of hope.

She got crushes all the time in any case. She was an artist. She wasn’t just attracted to beauty. She’s attracted to people who were different. People who seem to transcend the shackles of societal expectations intrigued her.

At first glance, Enjolras didn’t really seem like that sort of person, but getting to know her changed that perception. She fit every standard of beauty in a way that she’d never seen before. There was a purity about her (and Enjolras would bristle to hear that word used in regards to her or anyone for that matter) that felt almost as if Grantaire had travelled to a land of fairies and elves and wood nymphs and found this creature of fancies, but Enjolras made sure to challenge that idea of beauty with every action and every word that came from her mouth.

So when she tried her hardest to get even the tiniest scrap of acknowledgement from Enjolras, she did it because of artistic interest.

Every artist needs their muse, even artists who haven’t picked up a brush in years.

It made sense for her to be infatuated.

That was all it was.

An infatuation.

 

* * *

 

 

The Musian eventually became one of her favourite spots.

She loved it there.

The food was awful and the beer was even worse. The wine however, was perfect and Joly and Bossuet were almost always there. Out of all of her new friends, she felt like she knew Joly and Bossuet best. She could never have asked for better drinking partners than those two. They put Eponine to shame and that was a hard thing to do.

The best thing about drinking partners, outside of the fact that these were the people you formed lifelong alcohol dependency problems with, is that they’re fucking amazing gossips. Courfeyrac was good for that too and so was Jehan, but they were both irritatingly tight-lipped when it came to a certain blonde.

She found out so much with the help of those two. They told her about the time Enjolras got drunk for the first time and she kept yelling “To the barricades!” and locked herself in Courfeyrac’s bedroom crying about the poor structure of their impromptu barricade which consisted only of three chairs and a bookcase and of the time that Feuilly first met her and tore down every single argument she was making on education reform for underprivileged youths and helped her build better and more solid points and the subsequent crush that followed.

(She wasn’t jealous about that at all. She wasn’t.)

She reciprocated with her own gossip of course.

She told them how Bahorel actually tore up a little when she got her ankle tattoo. She told them about the time she and Jehan were jumping on their bed and genuinely rocking out to Taylor Swift when Jehan fell off the bed and twisted her ankle.

Neither of them actually liked talking about that for different reasons, but hey embarrassing story for embarrassing story.

They didn’t only talk about their friends though. They talked about almost everything from school to work to Joly and Bossuet’s shared girlfriend (Grantaire wasn’t sure how that worked but she wasn’t going to ask) to Grantaire’s moon shaped birthmark on her ass. They kept trying to get Grantaire to come to meet their girlfriend sometime but she always refused.  

It wasn’t because she didn’t want to. It was because she really didn’t have the time. From the shop to these meetings to kickboxing to gym time she barely had the time to sleep.

Their girlfriend wasn’t fond of these meetings, mainly because she was disinterested, but also because they tended to coincide with her job. She was a bouncer at a new club on Rue Violet.

Musichetta came to a meeting a few weeks later and Grantaire began to wonder if they had flyers up at all the tattoo parlours around Paris or if this was just where her old clients met for drinks.

The minute she walked in Joly shot up off her seat and Bossuet tried to do the same, but she bumped her knee on the edge of their table and hissed causing Joly to look away from Musichetta and to her in concern. When Musichetta saw this, she ran to them and immediately started fussing and cooing over her. Bossuet ran her hand along the bald part of her freshly shaved Mohawk and just let herself get pampered by the two as Grantaire looked on amused.

“I’m sure you’re getting great laugh from this.” Bossuet glared at her without any real malice causing Musichetta to look up at her.

Upon seeing her, the first thing Musichetta did was squeeze the air out of her lungs by hugging her and then yell at her for losing contact when she stopped working with Mabeuf three and a half years ago. 

“Didn’t you notice my style on your-” She waved her had as if to signal ‘whatever’s’ “stomach?”

Musichetta settled on Joly’s lap, her hand still on Bossuet’s leg and smirked at Grantaire. “It’s fucking awesome. So naturally I assumed anyone but you did it.”

Grantaire poked her tongue out at her while Joly and Bossuet watched on curiously.

“I’ve heard a lot about you Mademoiselle Grantaire, but no one referred to you as R so how was I supposed to know it was you. I should have guessed because, how obvious a pun, but I didn’t and it’s my deepest shame.”

“You two know each other?” Joly asked inquisitively.

“We didn’t fuck in the library senior year at uni or anything. It’s nothing exciting like how you two met.” Musichetta stared pointedly at Joly and her cheeks reddened to Bossuet’s utter delight. “She did my first few tattoos actually.”

“Damn right I did.” Grantaire laughed loudly, a few people looked her way but she didn’t pay them any mind. “She’s probably never had anybody like me since. It’s sad really.”

Bossuet began to sputter outrageously until she realised Musichetta, Grantaire and Joly were laughing.  She flipped Grantaire the bird before joining in on the laughter.

 

Neither Cosette nor Eponine knew Musichetta from back then. She was one of Grantaire’s clients before she got a shop of her own and Grantaire realised that keeping them apart for so long was in the best interest of everyone involved. They got along with each other so well it was almost frightening. The way they would whisper to each other each with devious grins on their face. Grantaire had no idea how it didn’t scare Joly and Bossuet as well.

Maybe she had some sort of clairvoyance or maybe it was just Grantaire that they stared at while they were whispering together, but she knew trouble when she saw it and those three were _trouble_.

 

* * *

 

 

“You have a walk in.” Cosette said with a sly smile. “I know you’re ready to go home, but just fit her in okay.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Ep and I are done for the day. You can close up tonight right.” Cosette asked, but she didn’t phrase it as a question and Grantaire was barely even listening to her as she nodded and walked out to the front room.

When she saw Enjolras she didn’t drop her gun like a fucking idiot (thank god) but she did silently curse the day Cosette was born so that was something.

 “What are you doing here?” She squeaked and Enjolras looked confused. So obviously being a fucking idiot wasn’t out of the question for the day.

“I want a tattoo.” Enjolras said slowly as though Grantaire were stupid. She looked uncertain, like she regretted even coming to her shop which was just great. She’d never seen Enjolras look that way before and she silently cursed _herself_ this time. Uncertainty looked just as good on Enjolras as blind optimism did on Grantaire.

“No-yes I mean do you know what you want?” She asked as she led Enjolras to her station.

“I want the word _liberté_ on my shoulder.”

“That...fits-I mean. You can sit.” Grantaire gestured to the stool in front of her and began sterilizing the needles where Enjolras could see. It was standard procedure.  “Do you have any specific font, or size or...”

“No you know what you’re doing.” Enjolras gripped her denim covered thighs firmly. “I trust you.”

Grantaire didn’t bother to tell her that it was going to hurt or that it would be fast, she knew Enjolras already knew those things. They fell into silence as Grantaire traced the words on her left shoulder and ignored Enjolras’ fidgeting. The script was gorgeous and elegant if she would say so herself, just like Enjolras.  

She remembered thinking that Enjolras was just woefully undertattooed when they first met, but she never thought she would be the one to change it. She supposed it made sense in a way. She and Enjolras were friends in an indistinct, formless sort of way. First tattoos were terrifying if you really care about it. It’s easier to have someone you know do it for you.

The gun buzzed to life in her hand and Enjolras stilled. She stiffened at what Grantaire assumed was the initial pain and then she relaxed. She wished she could soothe it or stop it all together, but there was no way of doing this without a little pain. The room was silent except for the buzz of the gun. She paused and dipped the needle in ink every now and again.

When she was done and she could actually look at Enjolras properly, her eyes were glazed over and she looked like she was far away. That was another look she’d never seen on her and she was loathe to interrupt it, but still she reluctantly cleared her throat and Enjolras jumped. ”You’re done?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire grinned as she looked at it. It was small and simple and understated; it was everything Enjolras wasn’t and yet it suited her beautifully. Something about that felt significant, but for the life of her Grantaire couldn’t figure out what.

She let it be and started cleaning up and packing away while Enjolras checked out her new ink. When Grantaire finally turned around Enjolras was smiling at her and it was the sun. “It’s wonderful.”

Grantaire flushed red and felt immensely stupid about it, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care as she covered the tattoo with a piece of cling film and mumbled out warnings and instructions.

 

The majority of the ABC were a part of her clientele so they knew her style and when they saw Enjolras’ tattoo they fussed over it and Grantaire preened. She felt a stupid sense of pride every time she glimpsed Enjolras’ tattoo. It didn’t come from a job well done or anything like that. The tattoo itself wasn’t anything fancy or anything that people would stop and stare at, but Enjolras trusted _her_ enough to let her permanently mark her skin and that meant more to her than she could put in words.

 

Their relationship didn’t really change after and Grantaire didn’t expect it too. Sometimes she would catch Enjolras staring at her with an indecipherable look on her face before looking away quickly the moment she saw Grantaire’s eyes on her but they still only ever talked to argue with each other and Grantaire still spent some nights fucking her hand and biting her lips so she wouldn’t call out Enjolras’ name, so when Enjolras saddled up to her one evening a few weeks later Grantaire geared herself up for a row.

She wasn’t shocked when Enjolras glared at her the moment she sat down. The words that left her mouth however, were something of a surprise.

“We haven’t talked in a while. How’ve you been?”

Grantaire was thrown for a moment but she collected herself enough to respond- “Since when do you know what small talk is Artemis?”

“Artemis?” Enjolras wrinkled her nose. It wasn’t one of her usuals. Grantaire usually alternated between Athena and Themis, but earlier today she had watched Enjolras verbally eviscerate a guy who had come to their meeting to make fun of them and to try to tear down their arguments for laughs and sent him away near in tears. Artemis fit her today.

“Artemis.” Grantaire didn’t feel the need to explain.

“I wanted to talk to you about something that might be-strange.” She asked awkwardly. Grantaire motioned for her to go on and she did. “The night that we met, it was fun” And this was the first time Enjolras had admitted that that night was real and not some weird, fucked up figment of Grantaire’s imagination and Grantaire really didn’t know what to do with that. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to try it again with you sometime.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure what she was hearing. Enjolras’ words were awkward and her posture was stiff. She wanted to reach out and smooth out the crease in Enjolras’ forehead and say something that made sense but she was mentally BSOD-ing. Enjolras actually wanted her and not in an ‘I’m drunk and I can barely see your face so you’re a passable enough fuck’ kind of way.

“You mean like in a ‘friends who fuck’ kind of way or-”

“Yes. Exactly.” Enjolras relaxed and smiled her soft, disarming smile that was never reserved for Grantaire, at least until now.

She didn’t know how she felt about that.

 She didn’t know how she felt about _Enjolras_.

Part of her wanted more than just sex and the other part was yelling at her for even _thinking_ she could ever have more. She would take what she was offered. Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Sure I’d...yeah.”

 

The trip back to Grantaire’s flat was somewhere between the line of awkward and boring. They didn’t hold hands or even talk to each other that much outside of mumbled directions. When they actually made it upstairs into the living room Grantaire wasn’t sure whether or not to offer her a drink or to sit and make small talk at first.

It was embarrassing. It wasn’t as if she’d never done the friends with benefits thing before.

Both she and Cosette and she and Eponine had casual sex until they both decided to do the more serious sex thing with each other but it was always fun and easy every time and there were no hard feeling left over. And Jehan was her ex-girlfriend and they still managed to be the best of friends, who randomly had sex with each other when they were both lonely and in the mood and nothing about that situation was awkward for them. Potentially awkward situations that never actually became awkward were apparently sort of her thing, but in this case her nerves were winning.

She was about to ask Enjolras whether or not she wanted tea or wine when she looked at her and saw that she was divesting herself of most of her clothing, leaving only her bra and panties on and- well that settled any ‘will there be any niceties?’ questions she had.

There wasn’t going to be any talk about the weather or how their days went, it was just sex. Grantaire could do that.

Grantaire started to follow her example, but she was a lot slower because she really wanted to look at Enjolras. Just stare at her and take it in without seeming creepy, but as fate would have it, Enjolras was not a patient person. Grantaire’s shirt was barely off before she took Grantaire’s hand and pulled her close to her. Their bodies were pressed flushed against each other.

“I really want to kiss you.” Enjolras said, her hands coming up Grantaire’s waist. “I mean is that okay? If I kiss you I-“

Grantaire cut her across by pressing their lips together. The kiss was awkward at first. Their teeth clacked together and their noses bumped awkwardly as they adjusted to each other. It wasn’t until Enjolras, who was more in control of herself than Grantaire was, gripped her sides firmly that Grantaire actually sank into the kiss.

All she could think about was about how much she wanted this to be good. She wanted Enjolras to remember it. She wanted to blow her mind- but she didn’t have time to think about that when Enjolras deepened the kiss, her tongue seeking entrance and Grantaire granting it. Enjolras’ hands reached in her wild, crazy hair and ran her hands through it it gently. Grantaire’s heart started to pound in her chest. If Enjolras noticed how hard her heart was beating when she lowered them to the ground in front of the couch and straddled her hips, she didn’t call attention to it.

“Your tattoo.” Grantaire mentioned idly, thinking about it last minute.

“It’s covered.” Enjolras replied and started placing small kisses along her jaw line. She could feel herself getting wet and she grinded her hips upwards.

Grantaire ignored the loud pounding in her chest and ran her hand through Enjolras’ hair, gripping the back of her head and directing her to her mouth.

Enjolras’ hands moved down her body and Grantaire couldn’t suppress the shiver when her hands kept going lower.

Enjolras wasted no time. She unbuttoned her jeans swiftly and she shoved her fingers down her pants, without bothering to remove it.

Grantaire was too lost in the moment to care.

She both loved and hated comparing Enjolras to any kind of deity, but the woman sitting on top of her with her hair falling past her shoulders and her eyes piercing, looked like the image of a goddess in all her debauched glory.

That thought was lost when she pushed two fingers into Grantaire and started thrusting them ruthlessly, all Grantaire could do was twist her head to her side and gasp into the carpet.

The last time this happened they were tipsy and in retrospect very sloppy, because now Enjolras fingers moved expertly inside her, twisting and curling in all the right ways and Grantaire was never very loud but she was panting and gasping, her hips thrusting upwards and her eyes squeezed shut. _Fuck_. She just wanted Enjolras’ hands everywhere. She wanted Enjolras everywhere.

She tilted her face up and Enjolras seemed to get the hint because she kissed her as Grantaire panted in her mouth, babbling nonsense.

Words were falling from her lips and really didn’t know which ones because there were stars forming behind her eyes and her skin was tightening and a familiar heat was pooling in her stomach. She really wished she could have seen Enjolras’ face. To see if she looked as determined as she did on a day to day basis, if she was disgusted by the way Grantaire’s face was contorted (She never did have the prettiest orgasm face, so she was told), if she was bored and this was just a means for her to get off too (equality in everything after all), if her incessant babbling was irritating her.

She couldn’t though, because she kept her eyes shut as Enjolras’ lips moved down her neck. Enjolras’ thumb found her clit and she started rubbing mercilessly. Grantaire tossed her head to the side and she raised her hand to her mouth and bit down hard as she came hard with a squeak. Enjolras fucked her though her orgasm silently until her thrusts slowed down and Enjolras withdrew her fingers.

Grantaire took a moment to catch her breath before opening her eyes. Enjolras was looking down at her with a confused look on her face and instead of trying to figure it out, she hooked her leg around Enjolras’ hip and flipped them so that their positions were reversed.

Grantaire started kissing her again, and their kiss was more languid this time. She used less force. She was still fucked out and moving unhurriedly.

She lavished kisses down Enjolras’ throat before returning to her lips. Grantaire’s hands roamed her body blindly, cupping her breast in her hand and rolling the nipple lightly through her thin laced bra before squeezing it harshly. Enjolras gasped against her mouth and her fingers were pressed against her sides. When Grantaire’s hands started going lower her barely there fingernails pierced her skin. Grantaire ignored the sting. She wanted to see Enjolras’ face as she came.

She rubbed her through her underwear and Enjolras let out frustrated sighs. “Your hands are so perfect. I just want to keep them forever.”

Grantaire was pleased to know that Enjolras was a talker. Grantaire, for all her lengthy rants, never really talked clearly during sex. Enjolras didn’t know how to shut up. “I need-You need to- _harder_!”

Grantaire was torn between wanting to kiss her and wanting the words to continue pouring out of her mouth. She settled with mouthing her neck as that hand that wasn’t otherwise occupied travelled back up her body, past the nape of her neck to tug at her hair.

“You’re so fucking- _God_!” Enjolras gasped as Grantaire’s hand pushed her underwear down and ran a finger down her silky wetness. Her finger found her clit again she started to rub her harder.  “Next time we – _fuck_! Next time we do this I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll scream my name. I’m gonna tear you apart and put you back together over and over again until you can’t take it anymore and you’re going to-fuck.” And Enjolras swearing had to be Grantaire’s new favourite thing. Enjolras’ hips bucked upwards and Grantaire’s hand sped up, inserting a finger inside her as Enjolras’ moans grew louder and her words descended into nonesense.  

They were both covered in a sheen of sweat and Grantaire bit at Enjolras’ collarbone and swiped her tongue over it, tasting the sweat, to soothe the sting. Enjolras’ breath started to hitch and well the way she came was exactly what you'd expect. Loud gasping and soft breathy moans, incoherent mumbling and her face contorted yet somehow still beautiful while Grantaire’s fingers continued to work their magic and she rode out her orgasm. Grantaire’s hands kept moving until Enjolras’ body stopped shuddering from the aftershocks.

Grantaire rolled off her after a moment and they lay on the living room floor.

Enjolras kissed her once more before quickly re-dressing and leaving with a soft: “I’ll see you later.”

Grantaire was still lying flat on her back, half naked with her chest heaving when Jehan had reached home.

 

It was ridiculous how easy it was for them to settle into a routine. Enjolras would sit next to Grantaire after a meeting, they would get into a pointless argument, each one more preposterous that the last, then they would walk to Grantaire’s and have very loud, vigorous sex on the first flat surface they could find.

Grantaire took great care not to be careful while they did it. Outside of closed doors she was as gentle as she was with the rest of her friends, never any less, never any more, but during the act. Her lips bruised, her fingers were fast and brutal, her grip was tight and she did everything that she could not to give herself away. Anything not to let her hands linger too long, or her gaze soften too much. She was rough where she wanted to be tender, hard and fast where she wanted to be slow. Enjolras, for her part, seemed to enjoy the treatment.

They had more sex than Grantaire even thought was possible. They fucked in every position. They used multiple toys. Grantaire’s tattoo shop was off limits but they fucked in The Musain, in the library, one time in Enjolras’ bathroom while they were doing their Saturday Night Movies.  They fucked on the kitchen floor, on the living room floor, on the couch, on the loveseat, on the single chair, on the coffee table, on the washing machine, on the kitchen counter, one eventful time on top of a fallen bookcase, but never in each other’s beds. It wasn’t because fucking in a bed was something special or to either of them-well at least it wasn’t to her-but because they couldn’t stop touching each other long enough to detangle themselves and actually make it to a bed.

It did nothing to strengthen or weaken their friendship. They didn’t really talk about it to each other or to anyone else. No one mentioned it aloud to them, but it was obvious that they all knew. Neither Enjolras nor Grantaire made any attempt to hide it. Jehan approached her about it only once.

“Is this a good idea Grantaire?” She asked.

“Why not?” Grantaire asked as she started colouring in the rose that Jehan was getting on her neck. “I thought you were all sex positive. Yay sex!”

Jehan hissed. She had so many tattoos and the pain still got to her. Necks were a tricky business with the pain though. Some people said they barely felt it and others said it hurt like hell; Jehan was probably in the latter.

“You two keep pawing at each other like horny teenagers. Being this casual with someone you love is a bad idea.” Jehan sighed. “You’ll get hurt.”

Grantaire hummed and the buzz of the gun was the only sound for a while in the room.

“It’s worth it.”

 

Grantaire was _not_ in love. Sure she liked Enjolras. That much was obvious, but every time she said that Jehan tutted and shook her head, Eponine smirked, Courfeyrac and Bahorel outright started laughing, Feuilly nodded sympathetically, Musichetta patted her head indulgently and Cosette sighed mournfully.

So it was just easier to let them go on and on about love and the like.  

She was not in love.

 

* * *

 

 

She, Bahorel and Joly were at the Corinthe when Enjolras texted her about the upcoming rally. Joly was chatting loudly about how most surgeons were either psychopaths or they committed suicide which was distressing because it was the perfect job for her since surgeons rarely deal with communicable diseases. Grantaire only glanced at her phone briefly during her tirade to shoot back a message.

 **Grantaire:** yeah well you’re wrong

 **Enjolras:** Excuse me?

 **Grantaire:** yelling at people wont make them listen to u

 **Grantaire:** it just makes you loud

Grantaire glanced up when she noticed the silence coming from beside her and saw two pairs of eyes on her. She cleared her throat: “Um what?”

“Oh nothing.” Bahorel replied loftily. “You’re phone’s buzzing again.”

 **Enjolras:** And what do you propose then? Silence?

 **Grantaire:** i propose nothing but another drink

Grantaire ignored her friends’ knowing smiles as she ordered another round of drinks. ‘On me!’ she had declared. Their night descended into chaos as they ordered shot after shot. They grew noisier and gayer as the night proceeded. Joly was the most fantastic drunk. She went from bemoaning the way Musichetta obviously had a vendetta against the feng shui in her apartment to cheering about the fact that she only had one year left in med school and then she could rearrange whatever ER she landed in however she liked to fit her needs and Grantaire was pretty sure that she couldn’t, but she let her chatter on about it anyway. Bahorel was even better. Grantaire was sure that she had broken up at least three potential bar fights before the night was out. Anyone who let Bahorel’s femininity make them underestimate her was an idiot indeed.

She almost forgot to check her phone. When she did though, her spirits dampened.

 **Enjolras:** You can’t even give me an answer of purpose.

 **Enjolras:** This is why I never listen to you.

She slammed her phone on the counter more harshly than necessary as she signalled the bartender for another shot. It wasn’t even Enjolras she was irritated with. Enjolras is Enjolras, it’s her who keeps messing up and saying the wrong things around her. She didn’t let her anger at herself show for too long. If anything she was merrier and louder as the night went on, until the barmaid told them they needed to get the fuck out.

 

“How’s Enjolras?” Joly asked innocently as she gathered their coats.

 “She’s fine.” She replied without a thought. It wasn’t until they were almost out the door that she remembered that she never mentioned who she was talking to, to either of them.

 

 

The thing about Enjolras is that she’s awful and Grantaire meant that in both the awe-inspiring way and the terrible way.  Social norms were not her thing. She was cold and harsh. Her words were like unsheathed daggers, ready to pierce at the slightest disturbance. She thought warmness and love and flowers and butterflies were nice, but only in theory. Only because _other_ _people_ thought they were important. Nothing was more important than justice and anyone who disagreed with her fundamentally was, in her eyes, not worth arguing with. Having regular sex with her didn’t change that.

It wasn’t even that Grantaire didn’t agree with what she had to say. She just thought that there were better ways of saying it.

Grantaire didn’t know why anyone even paid attention to her when she spoke in any case.

Her words weren’t like Enjolras’ or Courfeyrac’s or Bahorel’s; they didn’t burn with intensity and conviction. They didn’t hold Joly’s joy and charisma. They weren’t like Combeferre’s or Feuilly’s; they didn’t cut swiftly and deftly. They didn’t have Jehan’s low sombreness that came from the heart. They weren’t like Bossuet’s; Bossuet’s sarcasm and light-heartedness wasn’t feigned and they weren’t used to mock instead of teasing gently. Her words were a distraction at best. Her words weren’t even _hers_ , they were plagiary. She stole from philosophers, from writers, from artists, from poets.  Her words beheld every opinion but her own. If you just listened to her talk, you’d never know who she was. Her words were a thicket of thorny vines that you had to untangle to find the truth, whatever the truth may be. Grantaire herself didn’t care to know the truth.

Grantaire was her actions. She was her inactions. She would insult you while stroking your hair. She mocked her friends’ beliefs while making flyers and posters and signs and helping Combeferre with their web design.

Grantaire knew she was hard to figure out, especially if she didn’t want you to. She was a difficult person to care about. She was a difficult person to be around. She was rude and loud and she refused to let people see her for who she was and she didn’t know how to change that.

 

* * *

 

 

They had Girls Night In every few months to just _take a breath and catch up_ , according to Jehan. She and Jehan lived together and she saw Eponine and Cosette every day so she wasn’t sure exactly what she had to catch up on.

Girls Night In was basically a sleepover, but anytime she actually _said_ that everyone basically hissed at her so she just gave up on getting them to see the truth.

 

They had just finished watching all three Cheetah Girls movies and discussing the feminist messages in them that were frequently ignored by the general public and now they were just lazing.

Jehan was painting Cosette’s toes a bright pink and Eponine and Grantaire were trading a small bottle of gin back and forth. Cosette still lived with her father and Eponine had two kids at her flat, so they always did this at Grantaire and Jehan’s.

In the period that Grantaire and Jehan were dating and Eponine and Cosette had their weird UST thing going on, there was always a slight tension in the air. Grantaire and Jehan didn’t want to be too overtly affectionate because they didn’t want to make them uncomfortable or jealous. Cosette and Eponine always knew what they were doing and they were torn between gratitude (mostly on Cosette’s side) and irritation (mostly on Eponine’s side), but the way they were now was the perfect balance.

Grantaire went to the kitchen to get more alcohol, (Beer for Eponine, wine for Cosette, tequila for Jehan and whiskey for herself) leaving the empty bottle of gin discarded on the living room floor since Cosette decided to travel back to when she was twelve and play Truth or Dare.

They were all free that night since all their friends were respectable would-be lawyers and doctors and they had midterms creeping up on them. Still she checked her phone out of habit. She and Enjolras had taken to trading messages back and forth. Enjolras claimed she did it to help strengthen out her arguments. Grantaire just liked talking to her.

 

Playing Truth or Dare was a fucking stupid idea, because it generally ended in debauchery when Cosette was involved (and to think people thought of her as an innocent flower), but no one objected.

Grantaire sipped from the bottle in her hand and put it the other one in the centre as Cosette sat opposite her, Jehan to her right and Eponine to her left. Cosette called to go first because it was Cosette and no one expected any different. As luck would have it, it landed on Jehan first.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Jehan shrugged and as shy as Jehan was she never backed down from a dare.

“Good. I dare you to snog Bahorel when you next see her.” Cosette grinned.

“Technically you’re supposed to dare people to do things they can do immediately.” Grantaire interjected for Jehan’s sake. It was only because she knew Jehan well that she knew that the light blush staining her cheeks had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Fine.” Cosette conceded. “I dare you to snog Eponine. Now.”

“Easy.” Jehan shot back. Jehan crawled the short distance between her and Eponine and kissed her firmly on the mouth. When she pulled away, Eponine’s cheeks were also red.

“My turn.” Jehan smirked as she settled back down next to Grantaire. It landed on her this time and Grantaire sighed. Jehan always had to worse fucking dares so before Jehan could even open her mouth to ask the age old question she said “Truth!”

“Who’s better at giving head, me or Enjolras.” Eponine started laughing loudly and Cosette looked at her slightly sympathetically, only slightly because she was laughing almost as loudly as Ep. And apparently tonight would be a night of blushing for all, because Grantaire felt her face start to heat.

“En’rlas” Grantaire mumbled almost wordlessly into her bottle. Jehan gasped in mock offense and Cosette was looking at her in a thoughtful manner that she did not like. She grabbed the bottle and spun it quickly.

“You know the question.” Grantaire asked Cosette when the bottle landed on her.

“Dare.” She smirked challengingly.

Grantaire was also admittedly bad at dares. “Call Marie and get her to say ‘I love you’.”

Eponine’s eyes widened and Cosette’s mouth dropped and apparently they really needed to catch up because that was just a shitty dare that Grantaire barely thought up. What was she missing here?

“Okay what’d I miss?” Jehan voiced Grantaire’s question.

Eponine cleared her throat first “Who says you missed anything?”

“You two are about as subtle as an explosion.” Grantaire rolled her eyes.

“Tell!” Jehan demanded.

They glanced at each other, their weird- secret-superpower-lesbian-glance before Cosette said: “No.”

“Fine then.” Grantaire shrugged. “I change my dare. I dare you to invite Marie over.”

“You can’t just change your dare! That’s not how it works!” Cosette protested.

“There are no rules that say she can’t.” Jehan replied loftily.

“No but there’s the rule of fairness and common decency-“

“WE’RE DATINGOKAY!” Eponine yelled at them and caused them all to fall silent. “I’m sorry but this is pointless.” Eponine glanced at Cosette in apology. “We _were_ going to tell you two soon, but it’s still new and we’re not sure what we’re doing and we’re trying not to fuck it up.”

It was very obvious at which parts of that speech where she meant ‘I’ when she said ‘we’. Cosette noticed too and she squeezed her arm gently.

Grantaire and Jehan were silent for all of one moment before a barrage of questions started spilling out of their mouths.

“How long?”

“Is the sex good?”

“Does Mari even know what sex is?”

“If I start observing you guys and writing about it, it won’t be weird right?”

Cosette looked relieved and Eponine just sighed as she answered their questions, the game entirely forgotten.

 

* * *

 

 

Work was stressful. She liked people, she liked having a job where she dealt with them every day. Sometimes though, people were fucking irritating. Sometimes people forgot that tattoo artists were actually _artists_. Sometimes you have to let them do their jobs without interjecting every five minutes with pointless ‘helpful’ insights that they already know.

After a day of dealing with people like that, people who thought they could do their job better than her even though they probably didn’t even know how to draw a straight line without a ruler, she was usually tired. All she wanted to do was curl up on the couch with popcorn and wine and watch reruns of Project Runway. So that was her plan when she was heading home today.

She didn’t _mean_ to eavesdrop, but it _was_ her flat and when she came home from work she didn’t actually expect to walk in on Jehan and Enjolras gossiping. Grantaire didn’t even know that Enjolras gossiped. She was even planning to be the big person and ignore them and go about her business until she heard her name.

“ _Grantaire_ and I-“ and there was a pause where Jehan was probably searching for words. “We were very volatile together. I suppose it’s because we’re too similar. Our relationship was like trying to out a fire by lighting a match. We finished it before our inevitable crash and burn.”

 And wasn’t that an apt analogy. She and Jehan had a whirlwind of a relationship. When they fought, they fought bitterly. Their words were scathing and they lashed out at each other more often than not, not unlike her and Enjolras. There were obvious differences of course. She and Jehan had the tendency for periods of melancholic moods. When Jehan was in one of her tempers, she grew unbearably silent. She would brood and write and write and brood and grow more and more increasingly distant. Grantaire was different. She was incredibly needy during these periods. She would bury herself in her bottle and her work but she would cling to the nearest source of comfort wherever she found it.

When their moods coincided, it was catastrophic.

Jehan’s remoteness combined with Grantaire’s need for attention didn’t mix too well and it was the main source of their arguments. They understood each other better than anyone and no one knew how to take care of them like the other, but they also had the habit of getting on each other’s nerves just as often.

“We make much better friends than lovers if that’s what you’re asking.”

Grantaire could imagine Enjolras’ face at the moment. She would look mildly confused, but still so attentive, like she was in class. “I didn’t mean-“

“I know what you meant.” Jehan replied and her tone was far too sharp for Grantaire’s liking. She almost gave herself away to ask what the hell this was about because she couldn’t even figure out what led to _this_ conversation when Jehan’s tone softened. “I get where you’re coming from Enjolras, I really do. You’re trying and I’m glad, but if you even think of-“

“I understand.” Enjolras replied, far too calmly. “I just wanted to know okay.”

Grantaire didn’t bother listening to the rest of their conversation. She just made her footsteps louder as she walked in the kitchen and smiled at them. They had books scattered all across the kitchen table and they were both dressed casually enough that Grantaire knew they just got back from class, which was weird because they shared a sum total of zero classes together.

Enjolras barely glanced at her and Jehan just frowned. After a few minutes of awkward silence and Enjolras pointedly not looking at her she gave up the ghost and took an apple and headed to her room.

Grantaire understood absolutely nothing of that encounter.

 

 

 

When Enjolras came for her next tattoo Grantaire didn’t even pretend to be surprised. She came after work, when Grantaire was about to close up. She didn’t bother smiling or making small talk, she just strode in past Grantaire, sat in the chair and said:

“I want a red carnation on my wrist.” And Grantaire didn’t even have to ask why. She just put her satchel down in resignation and set about sterilizing her needles.

“Ever the nationalist.” She said conversationally.

“I’m a patriot.” Enjolras affirmed. “There’s a difference.”

Grantaire’s hands didn’t shake as she set about her work, but her insides did. Enjolras in this mood did things to her. She talked herself into her typical state of detachment as she did her work almost in absolute silence but for the buzz of the gun.

Enjolras’ skin was soft and smooth. Completely unmarred except for where Grantaire had marked her previously. It made sense.

 Enjolras was the embodiment of purity, even as she writhed beneath Grantaire’s touch; her presence was that of the innocent. Enjolras would hate those words to be used in comparison to her and Grantaire knew that now more than ever. Pure. Innocent.

 _Words created by a patriarchal, male driven society that deems innocence as the most important thing a woman could have all the while demonizing it as frigidness. They’re words that set about double standards that no woman could ever win. You can’t be a slut but you can’t be a prude. You should be a virgin but you shouldn’t say no when a man asks. It’s a system that’s designed to make sure that we_ never _win. We shouldn’t let ourselves give in to their bullshit. Fuck them. Fuck the society they created to make themselves superior._

Enjolras’ words poured into her thoughts and she agreed with them for the most part.

That was Grantaire’s problem where Enjolras was concerned. She agreed with her, but only partly. Her words registered as correct but she didn’t understand how things were ever supposed to change. She wanted to believe in what Enjolras and Combeferre and Courfeyrac and most of her friends preached, but she could only do so up to a certain point. She didn’t know how to believe in anything completely.

Except for Enjolras.

She believed in Enjolras.

What else was there to believe in?

The girl in question was looking at her hand thoughtfully as Grantaire covered it gently with the cling film.

“Do you like it?” She asked nervously.

“It’s beautiful. Your work always is.” Enjolras looked down at the covered patch of skin. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.” Grantaire smirked teasingly and it was her normal reaction to Enjolras but something about it felt off. “I didn’t think you even knew how to flatter me.”

“Of course I- I mean I’m sorry I don’t tell you more often, but your work is amazing. I don’t think I could ever do what you do.”

“Shit.” Grantaire tugged at the cuffs of her sleeve uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to guilt you into complimenting me. That’s a shit thing to do. I’m sor-“

“No! I meant it.” Enjolras eyes burned as she gazed at her with something completely out of place and way too familiar for her to not be able to name.

Something about the entire exchange struck her as weird, but she didn’t dwell on it as they both left the shop together. Everything Grantaire noticed about Enjolras recently seemed strange but she was sure it was all in her head.

Enjolras had her rally in two days. She didn’t need Grantaire’s weirdness on top of that.

 


	2. i dream the impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was meant to stand on top of blood and carnage, bloodless and victorious. A warrior woman.

 

Enjolras was meant for glory. Grantaire felt like a twat when she thought about things like that, but that didn’t stop it from being true.  

She was meant to command armies. Preach against tyranny. Were it the 15th century she would be preaching of justice and resistance. She would lead soldiers into battle, blonde curls flying around her head, a scripture written across her face, a fierce determination exuding from her entire being and no one would dare stop her.

She was meant to stand on top of blood and carnage, bloodless and victorious. A warrior woman.

She wasn’t far from that now.

There was no blood, no carnage, no death but the remarkable vision of Enjolras with her fists raised and her hair blowing in the wind with a face carved from the finest marble. The crowd was enraptured and soon enough they were yelling right along with her. Her voice still stood out in the sea of hundreds and her face was vibrant, a savage gleam in her eye as she yelled her words of righteousness.

 A warrior woman. 

Grantaire could barely take her eyes off of her. Even when Combeferre followed her giving her speech about transwomen and their place in the feminist structure, Enjolras and Courfeyrac standing on either side, Grantaire’s eyes remained glued to Enjolras.  

She listened to Combeferre’s  _words_  of course. She was an enigmatic speaker and she got her point across but she had none of Enjolras’ fire.

Grantaire stood in the back with Musichetta. She could see where the rest of her friends were standing in strategic spots in case any fights were to break out.

(It was just a rally and words were all that were needed, but they  _were_  French after all.)

She was shivering slightly. The gloves she was wearing were well worn and she could feel the bite of the cold through them. Her entire body felt as though it was on ice and it wasn’t even snowing.

Musichetta was more focused on her phone as she stood next to her, but every time she glanced up at Grantaire, she cleared her throat in amusement.

She was good enough not to laugh at her outright and allowed Grantaire’s eyes to remain on the gold and red without teasing and she was grateful for that.

When the rally was over, everyone went their separate ways. It went off without a hitch and everyone’s mood was joyous, but they were tired.

Grantaire left Jehan behind with a shoulder squeeze and a promise that she’d be home soon. Jehan smiled at her knowingly before bundling off with Bahorel and Cosette. Grantaire wanted to walk Enjolras home, she didn’t have a good reason to, Enjolras hardly lived in a dangerous area and she didn’t ask her for company, but she really just wanted to walk with her.

They walked along the Rue de Luynes. It was one of Grantaire’s favourite parts of Paris and fortunately enough, near to where Enjolras lived. The structure of the buildings, the architecture, a concrete jungle in the middle of Paris that looked better suited to the turn of the 20th century; it made Grantaire just want to sit and sketch.

She and Enjolras walked in silence, neither of them speaking to the other out of sheer habit.

When they were around their friends they could argue for hours. They could throw their words until the other was bruised, sore and tired. When they were on their own however, they spent their time in silence.

Enjolras slipped her hand in Grantaire’s like it was nothing and Grantaire’s heart stuttered as she tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest when Enjolras laced their gloved fingers together like they belonged there. Enjolras’ movements were languid and she looked exhausted, so Grantaire tried not to think too much of it.

“I’m very pleased with the turn out. It was more successful than our last few rallies.” Enjolras said conversationally and like that their rule of quiet seemed to be another thing that was just in Grantaire’s mind.

The primal anger that made the French wars so famous was quelled by Combeferre’s calm and Courfeyrac’s easygoing nature. Enjolras’ own brand of righteous anger was used to provoke thought rather than to incite violence. They were the Horae, working so effortlessly together, to bring forward a better society. They fit each other like a perfectly tailored glove or a well choreographed dance, everyone moving in time and catching the other without a sweat, the triad of justice, a triumvirate of goodness. They complemented each other in ways no else could.

Watching them work a crowd was breathtaking to say the least.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac had left together, arm in arm. Courfeyrac was yawning and she rested her head on Combeferre’s shoulder. Grantaire wasn’t sure if they were together or if they were just  _really_  close since neither of them ever talked about it, but they were adorable. She should ask them to pose for her sometime.

“Well anyone with even the tiniest bit of sense in their head would come to hear you speak.” Grantaire said matter-of-factly.

“They would come to hear any of us speak. From me, to Bossuet , to Jehan and even you.” Enjolras replied briskly.

Grantaire couldn’t stop herself from letting out a laugh. “ _Me?_  No one would come to listen to me talk if you paid them.”

“Yes they would. Everyone has the right to have their voice heard.” Enjolras protested. “You’re no different.”

“Yes well of course you can say that standing there. Nicola Enjolras, the grand dame of anarchy. People listen to you. As they should. There are people, like you, who are worth listening to. And then there are people like me, perpetual wastes of time, who would be lucky if someone dismissed them three minutes into speaking as opposed to before they even open their mouths.” Grantaire grinned bitterly.

Enjolras looked horrified and Grantaire silently cursed herself. Enjolras was used to her casual self deprecating remarks. Almost everyone was.

Very few people were used to her being so blatantly acidic about it.

She wanted to grab those words back, stuff them in her mouth and swallow them so Enjolras would never have to hear them again and the stone on her face would melt.

Luckily for Grantaire, nature decided to change the subject for her. They were barely about to turn the corner when water started to fall from the sky. The trees above them were thinly leaved and barely provided any shelter so Grantaire immediately tightened the grip of their intertwined hands as they ran down the street to Enjolras’ house.

The poetry of it was lovely of course. Jehan would definitely risk the inevitable cold just to stay out in it. Water was falling from the sky and trickling slowly down buildings and washing them clean.

However all Grantaire cared about, was getting somewhere warm and dry. Even if it meant staying at Enjolras’ flat longer than the simple drop off that she had planned.

(She lived in a bloody penthouse on the Boulevard St Germain des Prés.  _Christ_.

Even Jehan couldn’t afford a penthouse like that and Jehan was the richest person she knew.

She didn’t even want to think about the amount of money Enjolras’ parents must be rolling around in to be able to afford that so effortlessly.)

It doesn’t matter what any of the movies say, the rain is not romantic. Maybe if you’re watching it from inside you flat where you’re warm and cosy, but standing in the rain, letting the water drip down your hair and body or standing in a hallway waiting for your friend...sex friend (?) to open her door, did not make her want to melt into a kiss and recite Neruda for anyone. Snuggle? Maybe. But she and Enjolras never did that. Enjolras wasn’t the snuggling type.

The inside of Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment always seemed bigger without the usual crowd. Without Bossuet, Eponine, Bahorel and Joly laughing loudly, without Feuilly and Combeferre watching quietly with smiles on their faces, without Jehan, Cosette and Courfeyrac debating eagerly it just seemed  _bigger_.

Grantaire watched Enjolras stumble across the room, taking her coat off, kicking her shoes off and walking to the kitchen with a small smile on her face. In her off moments Enjolras was so endearing. She was like a kitten bumbling about uncaringly. Grantaire wasn’t sure whether or not she should follow her so she settled for just standing about and looking through Enjolras and Combeferre’s bookshelf. It was so obvious who bought and read which books. It was an abundance of unnoticeably similar political theory with somewhat distinctive differences and if that wasn’t the perfect analogy for Combeferre and Enjolras’ relationship.

They’d never done this before. Unless it was movie night and everyone was over, they’ve never really spent time at each other’s flats alone where semi-nudity wasn’t involved. She sat on the couch, and she was only barely damp so she didn’t worry about it. She looked around her and sighed. She always complained very loudly about the monochromatic way in which Enjolras and Combeferre designed their flat, all blacks and whites and silvers, not a touch of colour anywhere. Combeferre said they just never got around to decorating and Enjolras said she liked the apartment the way it was. It was fine, Grantaire supposed in a soulless, robotic banker sort of way but it was a far cry from Grantaire and Jehan’s. They both threw colour everywhere, quite literally. One wall in the living room was dedicating to throwing random paints. It looked like a crossover of a Pollack and a five year olds finger painting- not that there was much difference between the former and the latter- and Grantaire loved it. With Grantaire’s old paintings that Jehan refused to take down, temper tantrums be damned, Jehan’s flower pots, Grantaire’s penchant for painting the walls a different colour every few months and Jehan’s idea of colour design, their apartment was more colourful than any apartment had the right to be. A kaleidoscope of colours splattered across the walls, the furniture, the floors, the carpet and it absolutely screamed them. So looking at the neutral space was strange to Grantaire. Not only because she was an artist, but because Enjolras was so vibrant, so animated that seeing her living space so toneless seemed wrong. Enjolras was splashes of red and gold, Combeferre was splatters of green and brown and their flat didn’t represent that one bit. This place really needed more colour and she said as much to Enjolras, who was still bustling about in the kitchen.

When Enjolras came out of the kitchen with a cup of tea and gave it to Grantaire she nodded. She didn’t even realise that she was shivering slightly when Enjolras sat next to her.

“I like it just fine.” She sipped her tea, and the sleepiness from earlier seemed to be returning because she scooted closer to Grantaire, pressing their arms together.

“I liked Firefly just fine and it’s still off the air.” Grantaire replied.

Enjolras twisted her face in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“We can’t always get what we want. Shit changes.” Grantaire smiled. “Anyway I’m sure Jehan is going to sneak in here at some point and paint the walls orange or fuchsia something.”

“Oh no,” Enjolras replied drily. “Anything but fuchsia.”

“You can laugh now, but I’ve seen Jehan after she’s taken hold of a paintbrush.” She shuddered in fake horror. “I’ve never been the same.”

Enjolras let out a single laugh and shook her head. “You’re utterly ridiculous.”

They fell into a silence that was much more comfortable than the last. Enjolras rested her head on Grantaire’s shoulder and Grantaire tried her hardest not to stiffen lest Enjolras pull away.

“We should get out of these clothes.” Enjolras yawned, her head lolling on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“We should get you to bed.” Grantaire said firmly. She took Enjolras’ hand and Enjolras let her. They walked to her bedroom and the minute Enjolras’ head hit her pillow she fell asleep.

The rain was still falling heavily and there was no way of her getting home anytime soon. Her own exhaustion was creeping up on her, straight from work to the rally. It would be nothing just to take a little nap. Grantaire hesitated before kicking her shoes off and getting in bed with her.  She didn’t wrap her arms around Enjolras even though she desperately wanted to, it was enough to lie next to her and feel her warmth as she drifted off to sleep.

 

When Grantaire woke up it was still dark. The stars glittered in the sky, the moon was full and Enjolras’ golden curls were splayed across her pillow like sunshine and Grantaire’s arm was wrapped around her. Grantaire had to resist from stroking her hair and kissing her on the forehead. Instead she pulled away carefully so as not to wake her and she silently got dressed and sneaked out before Enjolras could wake up and actually see her silly infatuation up close. Enjolras was used to her friendship consisting of fond mocking and debates and she would very much like it to stay that way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They had movie nights at either Enjolras and Combeferre’s or more recently Jehan and Grantaire’s because they had the biggest places and it always tended to involve more talking and debating than it did actually  _watching_  the movie. Grantaire liked it for the most part because she talked through movies more often than not, but sometimes the topics got a little too heavy courtesy of Enjolras. This time though, Cosette, Eponine, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Combeferre, Bossuet and Bahorel outvoted the rest of them, so instead of another riveting re-watch of a Tarantino film which  _always_  descended into the loudest debates and left half of the movie unwatched, they were watching Moulin Rouge.

Cosette said: “There is no fucking way you can politicize Moulin Rouge.”

As with many things, she was wrong.  

Enjolras, who you could trust to politicize anything from the Teletubbies to Disney, went on a tirade during the movie about entitlement to female bodies and the glorification of organized prostitution by the time Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman were signing in the elephant. Courfeyrac joined in almost immediately, and then Feuilly, and then Bahorel, and then Combeferre and then Eponine and Grantaire just called the night a loss and went to the kitchen to see if she could find anything to drink, although given that Enjolras lived here...

Luckily for her, even though Enjolras wasn’t a drinker, Combeferre certainly was. There was a bottle of Merlot in the fridge-and Grantaire really needed to have a discussion with Combeferre on wine storage- and Grantaire poured herself a glass, choosing to drink it there instead of returning to the melee.

She liked arguing and she liked debating. It was in her nature to be contrary so she made the perfect opponent. Something about arguing with Enjolras these days however, was different. Grantaire enjoyed eliciting her to anger. Jehan used to say it was because Grantaire was like a pet dog and she thought negative attention was better than no attention at all. That was partly true, but even more so Enjolras was beautiful when she was angry. It was when her face shone the most and her eyes lit up, her entire demeanour changed and she became the goddess Grantaire always said she was. However more recently whenever Grantaire opposed her, the only emotion that ran across her face was disappointment and it left a sour feeling in the pit of Grantaire’s stomach.

Lost in thought, she didn’t even hear when Eponine walked in until the glass was snatched from her hand.

“Rude.” Grantaire snapped without any real bite.

“Rude of  _you_  not to share.” Eponine’s eyes twinkled as she drained the glass completely and Grantaire had to admire that kind of dedication given that the glass wasn’t even half empty.  

She grinned at her and Grantaire couldn’t help but smiling back.

It was always lovely to see her smile. Eponine’s life was hard to say the least before she met Grantaire. Her parents were deadbeat criminals who basically left her to take care of herself and her brother and sister. She had two other siblings that they sold to a couple who were ridiculously desperate for a kid. She was involved in a lot of shit that would scar anyone for life and Eponine handled it with the type of grace that Grantaire didn’t think was possible. She never told Grantaire everything that happened, she never told anyone, but Grantaire could fill in the blanks in the spaces where she said nothing.

Eponine managed to thrive when she had nothing to thrive on and Grantaire respected her all the more for it.

“Do you think these morons could find anything not worth fighting about?”

“Ah, ah Ep. It’s a friendly dispute.” Grantaire mimicked Combeferre’s usual rhetoric perfectly before they both burst into laughter. “And when are you going to stop pretending that you don’t fucking love them all?”

“I’m offended by how much you underestimate my stubbornness.” Eponine mock-sniffed and wiped away a fake tear.

“Apologies milady. I promise to never do so again.” Grantaire replied dryly.

 “You bet your ass you won’t” Eponine smirked, nudging her shoulder. “Come back in the living room. Blondie gets antsy when you’re not around to challenge her arguments.”

“I’m always up for a good quarrel.” Grantaire smiled and if Eponine noticed the stiffness of it, she didn’t say a thing.

 

 

“So.” Two weeks later Grantaire dropped next to Enjolras the minute Combeferre walked away to go talk to Courfeyrac. “How come you still live off your parents? No disrespect of course, it’s just the usual rebel rich bitch tends to cut herself off from her bourgeois, UMP supporting, Nicolas Sarkozy boot licking parents? It supposed to be in the manual or something. Where’s the false sense of pride? You’re really ruining your anarchist street cred here.” Enjolras rolled her eyes but they never moved from the book she was reading.  Grantaire’s tone was teasing enough that Enjolras realized she wasn’t being serious but she kept reading her book and Grantaire just assumed this was one of the moments where Enjolras was going to ignore her.

She glanced around the room. Cosette and Eponine’s arms were around each other and they were laughing in their drinks while Marie gazed at them fondly and really how did Grantaire miss this? Combeferre and Courfeyrac were speaking to each other quietly about something that looked important. Jehan, Feuilly, Bossuet and Bahorel, who she’d just left, were still drinking and laughing raucously. She made to go back and join them when Enjolras put her book down (She was reading  _La Dame_   _à la Louve_  and it was nice to see that she actually did read for fun) and started to reply:

“I still have my pride of course.” Enjolras looked Grantaire straight in the eye, unflinching as she continued. “But what is the  _value_  of pride in the face of the less fortunate. If my parents pay for my flat and my bills, the majority of my allowance, the parts that aren’t used for groceries and books that I need, can go to charities of my choosing. It was hardly a difficult choice.”

Grantaire was thrown for a minute. “That’s...really noble actually.”

“You sound surprised.” Enjolras looked like she wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered.

“I’m not surprised. It makes sense for someone like you.” Grantaire shook her head with a smile. “You’re  _that_  type. It’s just refreshing really.”

Enjolras spared her a small grimace, which was  _almost_  a smile and that was always nice, before returning to her book but Grantaire kept looking at her. They had no plans for the night. Enjolras had an early morning and Grantaire did too, but Grantaire couldn’t stop looking at Enjolras.

Fuck.

She was absolutely in love with her.

 

* * *

 

 

Things between them started to feel strained after that. Sometimes she would catch Enjolras looking at her strangely when they weren’t together. Their hands lingered and their kisses were softer. It made Grantaire nervous. She began to wonder how Enjolras would react if she was to suggest that their relationship grow into something more than it was, but then she’d instantly shoot down that idea as false hope when she realised that nothing was really different and then Enjolras would kiss her sweetly or smile at her from across the room and the entire thought process would begin again.

It was just confusing and Grantaire couldn’t figure it out.

 

Enjolras yelling at her was more typical. Sometimes she could admit that she deserved it, other times it was uncalled for. Just like Bossuet being clumsy, Cosette being a devil in angel’s clothes and Combeferre being smarter than everyone around her, Enjolras yelling at her would always be a certainty. So maybe that’s why people ignored them whenever they started.

This time though, everyone was staring and when Grantaire stormed out of the room and Jehan and Cosette jumped up to follow her.

(Grantaire sighed loudly as they followed her home, but she didn’t object. She didn’t know if she  _wanted_  to be on her own. She rarely ever did.

She didn’t play the part of the tortured, loner artist too well.

She flourished around people.)

Their fight was stupid. Grantaire didn’t even mean it when she said called Enjolras an over-privileged, barbie with a saviour complex. She was just doing what Grantaire did. Insulting people to get over the fact that she  _indeed_  had emotions and obviously Enjolras didn’t  _know_  that so she shot back about Grantaire drinking too much and wasting her life and not living up to her full and it just fell into chaos after that. Their words got more personal than usual and at the end of it she was sure Enjolras actually wanted to clock her one in the face.

It was her fault really. Falling in love with your one night stand was a bad idea. Who even did that in real life? It sounded like the premise of a shitty rom-com that Grantaire wouldn’t even pay a euro to see. Falling in love with your fuck buddy was infinitely worse.

Eponine was already there when they climbed up to their flat which meant that Cosette texted her. She let herself in (she broke in) and she brought cookie dough ice-cream - the blessed angel - and shitty B movie, lesbian rom-coms.

Grantaire never really got the whole ‘I’m going to eat away my feelings and watch sad movies that are just going to depress me when they’re sad and depress me even more when the ending is happy given that I feel like shit at the moment’ thing, but if it made them feel better to think that it made her feel better, she was all for it.

And also, ice-cream.

Halfway through I Can’t Think Straight, when Leyla was having her obligatory gay panic and Grantaire had busied herself with braiding Eponine’s hair into a pretty French braid; Eponine paused the movie and said:

“Can we just address the elephant in the room here?”

“What are you-“ Grantaire started to say when Eponine interrupted her.

“I’m talking about how casually fucking a girl you’re practically in love with is messing with your friendship?” She interrupted her before she could even get her sentence out. “Like I’m not saying either of you were in the right because I have no idea what you were yelling about this time seeing as I wasn’t there, but all I know is that this isn’t how relationships are supposed to work okay. You’re not supposed to be at each other’s throats every five seconds. And you’re not supposed to forgive her for being an asshole in an hour like I know you’re going to and pretend that nothing happened. She could kick you in the face and in five minutes time you’d say everything is okay and smile with blood in your mouth. It’s awful and you deserve better than that. You both deser-“

“Okay first of all Weasley.” Grantaire said tugging on an auburn braid- harder than she thought she did from Eponine’s yelp and she knew she was going to pay for that later- and interrupting whatever else she was going to say.  Jehan was silent from next to Eponine and Cosette was glaring at Grantaire from across the room which of course meant that she was in for it times two. “It’s none of your business.”

“And second of all?” She asked snappily, and yeah Grantaire deserved that.

“Nope. That was it.” Grantaire said finishing the braid gently and squeezing Eponine’s shoulder in apology. Eponine walked over to where Cosette was sitting on the loveseat and sat on her lap, giving her a peck on the cheek before looking at Grantaire. “I still stand by what I said.”

“We’re just worried about you.” Jehan said earnestly looking up at her with those big, sad, hazel eyes and really, how was this fair? “You’re our friend Lucie, and we don’t like seeing you hurt. Ever.”

Jehan was probably the only person in the world who could get away with using her first name and still keeping their limbs intact, but she only ever used it when she was serious and she thought the matter called for it. Grantaire deflated.

“Enjolras and I are not together.” Grantaire said much more gently than before. “We’re just friends and our relationship, as confusing as it is, is still  _our_  relationship.”

“And it’s a toxic one. Trust me. I’d know.” She replied bitterly. Eponine had had her fair share of toxic, unhealthy relationships so she knew what she was talking about, but Grantaire really didn’t think this qualified.

Everyone was awkwardly quiet for a few minutes until Jehan skillfully changed the subject. No one brought it up again for the rest of the night, but she knew Eponine was right. Not about her and Enjolras’ relationship being toxic of course. That was- well that was neither here nor there. She was right about how easily Grantaire would forgive Enjolras anything.

 

Sometimes after one of their rows they wouldn’t talk to each other for days, Enjolras would religiously ignore her and Grantaire, never one to force herself on someone when she clearly wasn’t wanted, would follow suit. Sometimes however, they didn’t talk for other reasons.

Reasons like Enjolras’ back being slammed against the bathroom stall in a perfect replica of the night they first met and Grantaire viciously attacking her neck. Her legs wrapped around Grantaire’s waist and her hands roamed up her back as she panted harshly.

Enjolras isn’t the only terrible one in this-whatever the hell it is they’re doing. Grantaire can get pretty nasty too.

Case in point, the way they had each other locked in this angry embrace, Grantaire’s hand around Enjolras’ hip and one hand in her hair. They kissed each other heatedly and they kept biting each other. Biting each other’s necks, collarbones, lips, jaws, ears, anywhere they could find purchase.

 

She came to the meeting earlier than usual, brushing off Jehan’s offer to meet her after work, for this reason. She wanted to talk. She wanted her and Enjolras to actually clear the air after one of their fights and talk like the adults that they were trying to be. However, somehow that talk turned into yelling, and the yelling turned into Enjolras dragging Grantaire to the bathroom and shoving her against a bathroom stall and crashing their lips together. Grantaire kissed her back enthusiastically.

Their trysts were rarely sweet and gentle, but they weren’t this violent, desperate burning either.

Grantaire’s twisted her hand in Enjolras’ hair- and she thought she would die if she couldn’t touch that hair again- and pulled it, posturing Enjolras the way she wanted. Her kisses on her neck turned to bites and then to sucking and she knew that Enjolras’ neck would be marked up and that made her suck more urgently. She spun them around, so that Enjolras was pressed up against the stall and kissed her insistently, desperate to leave some sort of mark on Enjolras, so that she could actually remember that Grantaire was there, that Grantaire had her so completely, that Grantaire was someone other than _that fuck_  she had every week.

Enjolras wrapped a leg around Grantaire’s hip and she hoisted her higher so that both of her thighs were around her waist. She unbuttoned her jeans quickly and she thrust two fingers into her with absolutely no finesse. She didn’t have time for foreplay, or to slow it down. She just wanted Enjolras to understand what she was trying to say for once, to accept her wordless rebuttal.

The angle was awkward and her wrist was twisted uncomfortably but Enjolras was wet enough for her hiss to be one of pleasure and that was the only thing that mattered.

She thrust her fingers aggressively and Enjolras fucked down on them, trying to contain her moans as she grinded her hips down hastily. Grantaire panted loudly. She could feel herself grow wetter with each noise Enjolras made. They were probably getting noisier than they should but neither of them found it in themselves to care. In fact, Grantaire started driving her fingers faster. She rubbed her thumb against Enjolras’ clit and Enjolras bit her shoulder to muffle the noise. She came with a strangled groan and Grantaire fucked her through it.

When Enjolras’ quiet whimpers grew softer Grantaire pulled out. She eased Enjolras into a standing position and quirked an eyebrow at her as she stumbled. Enjolras just stared at her wordlessly and Grantaire was about to roll her eyes and walk out the stall when Enjolras grabbed her by the waist and pulled them close together. Her face showed something much softer than either of them was feeling at the moment. She slipped her hand up Grantaire’s skirt and under her knickers. She started rubbing her gently, much more gently than she knew Grantaire liked.

“Do you have any idea how you look like this?” Enjolras asked conversationally as Grantaire whimpered and buried her face in Enjolras’ neck. “You’re a vision.”

She was going tortuously slow and she knew this was one way to piss Grantaire off. By teasing her. And it was worse given that she was already angry. Grantaire liked it rough and quick so she never had to fool herself into thinking this is something that it’s not.

“One day, I’m going to crawl under the table when you’re giving one of your incessant rants” She pressed harder against her clit and Grantaire jolted, slamming her head against the stall, her hands trying to find purchase on the wall behind her as she panted. And that was it. “I’m going to crawl under the table and fuck you with my tongue, until you scream” Her words were a sneer and Grantaire glared at her with more malice than necessary. “Until everyone can see you like this, sighing so prettily for me.”

Grantaire growled and took hold of Enjolras’ hand and directed it the way she wanted. She rubbed herself violently with the heel of Enjolras’ hand, and she was probably going to be sore later but she didn’t care. She humped down on Enjolras’ hand as quickly as she could and Enjolras’ hand sped up without Grantaire’s control. She slackened her grip as Enjolras seemed to get the point and buried her head in her neck again, this time to hide the noise she was making. She bit Enjolras’ neck harshly and she knew there was going to be a mark left behind but she couldn’t find it in herself to care because Enjolras’ hand was cupping her breast through her shirt and the other hand stroking her less than delicately.

Enjolras kissed her lips and Grantaire pushed into it urgently, her hands coming up behind Enjolras’ neck to pull her in closer. Enjolras tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth as she grunted desperately, thrashing against Enjolras as she found her release.

When she got her breathing under control she felt awful and Enjolras didn’t look like she felt much better.

Enjolras looked more composed than Grantaire by far. Grantaire’s clothes were still mussed up, her hair was a mess and she was sure her makeup was even worse. Enjolras’ hair was tangled and she didn’t wear makeup and yet there was lipstick smeared all over her mouth. It was obvious what they just did, but Enjolras’ face displayed none of that. She looked as calm and unruffled as ever. It was only because Grantaire was beginning to know her and her expressions that she could see how troubled her eyes were.

This didn’t solve anything.

Grantaire opened her mouth a few times before closing it. She didn’t know what to say, but as usual Enjolras did.

“I’m sorry I’m such an asshole all the time, but you’re kind of an asshole too.” She said and she pushed herself closer to Grantaire and kissed her more softly than she expected after how coarse their sex was, before pulling away with a sad glint in her eye. And there it was. Grantaire didn’t say anything in response. There wasn’t anything that she  _could_  say.

She felt like she was drowning when Enjolras walked away and she didn’t fight it. She didn’t swim away from the shore. She didn’t grab onto a life raft. She just walked out of the bathroom stall, washed her hands, ignored the few girls in there who were blatantly staring at her and she let it happen.

                      

Grantaire didn’t bother staying for the meeting. She was just planning on taking a smoke outside when she felt, someone stand next to her.

“You look like-” It was Combeferre’s voice and she knew what Combeferre meant. She looked like sex.

 “Didn’t I tell you? I’m trashy as hell.” Grantaire smirked blowing out the smoke between her lips. “I never pretended to be otherwise.”

Grantaire had never really had that much of a conversation with Combeferre outside of the first time they met, even when she did her tattoos. She had a way of making silence feel like the most natural thing in the world. Even for someone like Grantaire who felt like they had to fill up every space, every void with something audible.

 “I don’t think you’re trashy.” Combeferre replied smoothly. “And anyone who does isn’t worth your time.”

Her words were loaded with something Grantaire couldn’t begin to understand. If it were anyone but Combeferre she would have voiced her concern that everyone seemed to be talking to her in riddles these days, but Combeferre always talked like that. It was like trying to find a gold piece in a bowl of identical forgeries, when Combeferre didn’t speak with clarity. Impossible.

“Yeah well.” Grantaire shrugged.

“Well nothing.” Combeferre said firmly a fierce glint in her eyes. Sometimes Grantaire forgot that Combeferre was just a militant in her feminism as Enjolras was.

Combeferre was the calm to Enjolras’ storm. The eye of the hurricane. People forgot how dangerous that was.

“Ah yes. I’m implying that trashiness makes me less of a woman, or that trashy women don’t deserve respect right?” Grantaire replied with a laugh. “Well that was not my intent dear Combeferre. I’ll leave the combative brand of feminism to you smart folk who are actually capable of speaking with care.”

“That’s not what I meant although you bring forward a valid point.” Combeferre shrugged, leaning against the wall. “I meant that by saying you’re trashy you’re implying that you’re garbage and I’ve never viewed you as trash.”

“Did you come over here to give me a pep talk?” Grantaire grinned falsely at Combeferre, who looked like she saw right through it.

“I came to bum a smoke actually.” Combeferre looked at her as if she wasn’t fooled for a second.

“I should have offered.” Grantaire frowned at her hands before giving the pack to Combeferre. “Forgive my intemperance, but it seems to be my life more often than not.”

“You know for someone who says they aren’t smart; you talk as if you’ve just escaped an Austen novel.” Combeferre said startling a real laugh from her.

“Why do you think you need a pep talk?” Combeferre asked giving her her pack back as Grantaire lit her cigarette for her. “Actually don’t tell me. Does her first name start with an N and her last name with an E?”

“Bingo.” Grantaire sighed. “Do you promise to keep what I say under the strictest confidence?”

Grantaire knew that Combeferre and Enjolras were probably closer than even she and Jehan was, so she wasn’t sure that Combeferre would keep what she said private from Enjolras. She wouldn’t if the roles were reversed. But Grantaire didn’t care at this point.

“It’s just that-no matter how I think about it, Enjolras and I just don’t fit. No matter how much I want us too. We’ll never work together.”  

“Do you want advice from me or reassurances?” Combeferre asked.

“Neither.” Grantaire looked at her feet before pushing off the wall and making to walk away before Combeferre’s words stopped her.

 “Katherine Anne Porter said: Paris loves anybody who can live anarchically and be delightful entertainment at the time.” Combeferre smiled to herself. “That reminds me of two people I know.”

She squeezed Grantaire’s shoulder before outing her cigarette and throwing it in the bin opposite them and leaving Grantaire to decipher that on her own and truth be told, that was the easiest riddle she’d gotten in a while.

Later that night when Jehan had asked her how her conversation with Enjolras went, she just laughed until her sides began to hurt.

 

She picked up a paintbrush for the first time in years two days later.

 

Grantaire tried distancing herself from Enjolras after that. Enjolras had finals coming up in a month and she and Grantaire rarely had time to talk far less do anything else. The conversation they desperately needed to have could wait until later.

She stopped going to meetings and focused herself on her work. Grantaire didn’t stop going altogether because of Enjolras alone. Christmas was a busy time for her. The holiday season was both parts frustrating and cheerful for Grantaire. Frustrating mainly because ‘ _tis the season to be jolly_  obviously meant ‘tis the season to get shitty holiday themed tattoos’ for a ridiculous amount of people. Cheerful because Grantaire was an admitted soul sucking succubus who fed off of people’s emotions and those tended to run high around this time. She was also painting more and that took up time.

There were little to no meetings anyway since everyone had finals.

While the holiday season was great for  _her_  work, it really was the worst time for activism. The news stations were far more concerned with advertisements for rich companies that would give them more money and puff pieces about little dogs with fake antlers riding sleighs full of candy cane or whatever the hell was happening these days. They spared a few days to talk about charity work of course, but no one wants to hear about justice when Christ the saviour was about to be born, so her schedule was basically: work, home, drink, paint, sleep, work, home, drink, paint, drink, paint, sleep, drink, sleep, drink, sleep, home, work, drink, paint, drink, sleep. She was running herself ragged.

Even on the days that Eponine and Cosette took the day off, and that happened frequently more often which was to be expected around the holiday season, she worked herself hard.

She could tell that Jehan was worried. The same way Jehan threw herself relentlessly into her poetry when she was upset or confused, Grantaire did with her art. Tattooing was her art, but she was painting again and she found some semblance of peace while she worked.

Fifteen watercolour portraits.  Fifteen Christmas presents. She didn’t even know why she tasked herself with a challenge so difficult, especially when she had the tendency to half ass everything, but she wore herself out doing them. Anytime Jehan asked her what she was painting, she’d change the topic.

So one day closer to the holiday when she went to work and saw Courfeyrac sitting in the empty front room, it came as no surprise. Since Combeferre talked to her last time, it was obvious that Courfeyrac was going to be the one to talk to her now. Her hair was in a long braid and she was wearing a cardigan. It was almost as if she’d been shopping in Cosette’s closet. Her face was naturally expressive and it was currently set on mildly worried and incredibly indomitable.

Enjolras, Combeferre and her were really inseparable. When something concerned one of them, it concerned all of them. Grantaire found it charming. Sometimes Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac would sit there like they Dikē, Eirine and Eunomia, ready to cast down judgement on unworthy mortals, to bring forth peace and justice to the land. Grantaire wondered if they would be flattered by the comparison or not.

She was undecided but Eunomia took one look at her and decided that the best way to get through to her was to tap her on the head and say: “You’re taking a day off.” And Grantaire didn’t even bother attempting to refuse.

Paris around this time meant, rain and cold and more rain and more cold, so they were both bundled up as they headed to wherever Courfeyrac was leading them. After walking for over fifteen minutes, they ended up on Champs-Élysées and Grantaire laughed. This was truly, well ridiculous. Champs-Élysées wasn’t interesting unless it was night. Still, Courfeyrac dragged her down the street, past the beautiful trees that would become even more beautiful come nightfall.

When they got to Le Musée l’Orangerie Grantaire laughed again for a completely different reason.

She didn’t stop to think about it before throwing her arms around Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac accepted her hug with a laugh of her own and giving a tight squeeze back.

 

The first place they went after paying the entrance fee, was to go upstairs to see Les Nymphéas. It was Grantaire’s favourite and Courfeyrac seemed happy to just follow. Most people who came to l’Orangerie came to see Monet’s permanent eight panels, so the line was long and the room was kind of crowded, but Grantaire didn’t mind. It was her favourite place in the museum.

“I never took you for a Monet fan to be honest.” Courfeyrac said conversationally as they looked at the art on the walls. “It was only when Jehan told me that you came here often that I figured it out.”

“I  _don’t_  like Monet. His work is so cheery I feel like vomiting on myself most of them time.” Grantaire replied and she must have said that louder than she thought because she heard a few people gasp in outrage, and wasn’t that dramatic of them.

“Could have fooled me.” Grantaire’s eyes were glued to the painting as Courfeyrac looked at her in amusement.

Grantaire didn’t respond, she was enraptured with the room. Before she finished college, she fancied herself an artist. She wasn't the best but she was decent with a brush. She was even better with a needle. She used to visit art museums regularly even while she was apprenticing under Mabeuf. She didn’t even remember when she stopped. Maybe it was when she stopped experimenting with her paints. Maybe it was when she started taking her job seriously and she didn’t have as much time as she usually did. She wasn’t sure, but she was happy that Courfeyrac brought her here.

 

“It’s possible to hate someone’s work and still find them talented.” Grantaire replied later as they were walking to the ground floor. “His brush work is exquisite. I envy him that. I come here because of the Water Lilies mostly. I like to come and stand there when the museum is almost empty. It’s peaceful.”

Courfeyrac nodded in understanding.

“Come.” She said taking Grantaire’s arm. “The Freda Kahlo exhibit is still showing. I have a feeling you’d love that.”

 

They went to some cheap restaurant after and that’s when Courfeyrac got to the point of why she even came to see Grantaire.

“We miss you.”

“I miss you guys too.” Grantaire replied awkwardly, her eyes fixed on the table cloth.

“This is my fault.” Courfeyrac sighed after a few minutes of silence where they waited for the water to bring their food.

“What is?” Grantaire asked uneasily, her shoulders tensed.

“Enjolras doesn’t  _do_  casual. She only knows how to throw herself into things wholeheartedly, and when I told her to have fun for the night... albeit I didn’t tell her to actually fuck anyone. She’s bad with directions sometimes. It’s- I’m the entire reason you and Enjolras even happened. I take full responsibility.” At Grantaire’s cocked brow Courfeyrac laughed. “Okay not  _full_  responsibility. The fucking up of everything is on you both.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” Courfeyrac smiled cheerily. “But on a serious note, I have no idea what’s going on with you and Enjolras because she refuses to speak about it, even with Combeferre, but I resent you cutting all of us off because of it.”

Grantaire ducked her head to hide a faint blush. It was always nice to know that you were wanted. “Do you want me to come start stalking you all again?”

“Well most of us are going home in a day or two and Feuilly’s going home with Bahorel for the holidays, but when we come back I am dragging you by the hair to come hang out with us if I have to.” Courfeyrac’s attempt at sternness was eclipsed by the amusement behind her eyes.

Courfeyrac switched the topic to what Grantaire was getting her for Christmas so easily that Grantaire almost didn’t notice. By the time they were ready to leave the awkwardness from earlier had dissipated entirely. Courfeyrac walked her home and kissed her on the cheek before leaving.

“Seriously. Don’t cut us off like that again okay?” Courfeyrac squeezed her shoulders.

 “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Grantaire acquiesced.

“Next time! God forbid.”

 

* * *

 

 

Grantaire’s never had a permanent group of friends until she came to Paris. First it was just Jehan. Then Eponine came into the picture and then Cosette. She thought that would be enough for her for a long time, because Grantaire loved people but she hated making connections with them. Anything solid, stable and enduring she ran away from. She used to flit from circle to circle, never settling with anyone or anything, so to have a group of friends this large for so long was strange to her, but she found that she loved it.

She began to see the value in friendship in a way that she never did before.

One of the perks was the room of presents that Courfeyrac left with Jehan. A brush set from Courfeyrac, a Renee Vivien novel from Combeferre, a new pair of boxing gloves from Bahorel, a bag of premium brand coffee from her lord and saviour, Bossuet and a box of chocolates and a coffee mug from her respective girlfriends (and if this was their way of getting her to start taking teatime seriously, it was working), Frank Turner’s latest album from Feuilly and a copy of The Social Contract from Enjolras which she assumed was a gag gift. Who knew the girl had a sense of humour?

Jehan went home for the holidays as usual but she gave her a compilation of every poem that she’d written that year dedicated to her, bound by paperback. They had a habit of giving each other homemade gifts by Jehan’s design. She typically sketched something for her or gave her a new tattoo of her own design, but this year was different.

(She’d given her her present before she left and Jehan wrapped her arms around Grantaire’s neck and kissed her on the cheek all the while thanking her profusely.

Cosette was just as enthused when Grantaire gave her hers, but she scolded her for doling out her presents unwrapped so early.

Eponine just smiled at her and told her thank you, but there were visible tears in her eyes when she did that, because out of everyone she and probably Jehan were the only ones who knew what it meant for Grantaire to actually give anyone that as a gift.)

She and Eponine were the only ones who stayed in Paris for Christmas and as usual, Grantaire and Eponine were invited to Cosette’s for Christmas dinner.

Before she knew Cosette, her Christmas nights consisted of cheap wine, shitty holiday themed movies and ended in drunken calls to her parents which she regretted the next morning. So when Cosette practically dragged her and Eponine to dinner with her and her father when they both mentioned that they didn’t really do anything special the day, it was something of a relief. Cosette’s father was quiet and sweet. He obviously doted on Cosette and refused her nothing. So for the third year in a row, Grantaire, Eponine, Azelma and Gavroche had Christmas dinner with the Valjean’s.

This was the first Christmas Eponine and Cosette spent as a couple and Grantaire wanted to give them the space they’d never ask for so she ‘accidentally’ forgot the time dinner was starting and came late.

She dallied around her flat, which felt incredibly empty without Jehan, and took her time getting dressed.  She threw on a pair of black skinny jeans that she always liked the way she looked in and threw on a solid white v-neck t-shirt and the thick woolly sweater that Cosette got her over it. She sent off a text to Enjolras, it didn’t say anything other than  _“I hope you have a good Christmas. :)”_ and then she hurried over to Cosette’s before it got  _too_  late.

The door was already open and when she walked inside into the living room Azelma’s white blonde hair was falling on her face and her eyes were glued to her phone as she typed furiously. Cosette and Eponine sitting on the loveseat, grinning at each other shyly. They were ridiculously adorable. To her surprise Marie was there too, sitting on the floor below the two, looking up. Gavroche was nowhere to be found. Grantaire glanced at Valjean who was sitting in the big arm chair looking at the trio and he looked torn between whether or not he should smile at them or glare at them and seemed to settle into a half grimace. He smiled warmly at Grantaire when he saw her and beckoned her over.

“Merry Christmas. We were waiting for you.” He said and that took the lovebirds attention away from each other for a few moments. Cosette shot up, stumbled over to her and enveloped her in a hug and Eponine wasn’t far behind. 

“Happy Christmas R.” Cosette kissed her on the cheek affectionately and Eponine ruffled her hair good-naturedly.

“Happy Christmas.” Marie said trailing behind them shyly.

“We were waiting for you asshole.” Gavroche popped out from under the couch, ducking the kick Eponine threw at him. “Merry Christmas ya filthy animal. Can we eat now?”

“Have some manners you brat.” Azelma said not taking her eyes away from her phone.

“You of all people calling  _me_  a brat?!” Gavroche sneaked up behind her and grabbed her phone from her hand, trying (and failing) to hold it out of her reach. The tiny git. Eponine just sighed as she tapped Gavroche the back of his head. She smoothly took the phone from him when he rubbed his head with a frown and pocketed it.

“You’ll get it back after dinner.” She said to Azelma who was glaring daggers at her.

Valjean seemed to be taking it all in stride, because he just smiled warmly as he stood and gestured for them to head to the dining room. Marie looked startled. Her eyes were wide and Grantaire was really looking forward to her getting to know Eponine’s family better if  _this_  shocked her.

Christmas dinner was less of an event. Their maid, Toussaint, cooked everything and she was a brilliant cook. Everything was flawless. Conversation was always easy between all of them. They went from talking about politics to art to Grantaire’s shop to Les Amis to the garden outside and how Jehan was eager to come back and start tending it again. Marie was struggling to adjust to the random changes in topic, but Cosette took her hand, and Eponine started stroking her thigh if that blush on her cheeks meant anything, and she just seemed content to go with it.

Azelma nudged her halfway through dessert and whispered: “I heard you were screwing some blonde chick.”

Grantaire rolled her eyes. Eponine really needed to be more careful who she had conversations in front of.

“Is she prettier than me?” She fluttered her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips.

“Of course not Zelma.” Grantaire smirked. “I don’t think there’s anyone prettier than you.”

“Damn right there isn’t. I’m the supreme blonde, alpha bitch around here.”

They both ignored the glare Eponine sent their way and Azelma smiled, nudging her again. “I hope it works out for you. You deserve someone who makes you happy.”

Grantaire spared her a smile as she chewed her food silently because she really wasn’t sure where Enjolras really fit when it came to her happiness.

 

**

Boxing Day was boring. She watched television reruns of Oliver Twist, Annie and Home Alone, drank cheap wine and firmly resisted from picking up her phone and calling her parents. It was for the best that she didn’t, they wouldn’t want to hear from her anyway.  She also resisted from calling up Enjolras and apologizing for being an asshole and giving her the appropriate season’s greetings. She still wasn’t sure where they were and she wasn’t about to ruin someone’s holiday with unwanted communication.

When Jehan came back she was eager to tell Grantaire every single detail of her trip. Her hair was frazzled as she walked about the apartment and her words were a flurry of “We sang so many carols” and “I didn’t even know that piano still worked.” and “And there was  _snow_!” and “The grass looked so sad under all that weight.” Grantaire didn’t even notice when the topic switched to their friends.

She did hear her when she mentioned Courfeyrac’s party and Grantaire almost walked away from her.  Courfeyrac was throwing a New Year’s Eve party two days later at Enjolras and Combeferre’s and Grantaire was not reasonably not interested in going especially given how well the last New Year’s party Jehan dragged her to ended, but Jehan promised that it was just a tiny get together between friends and that she didn’t even have to talk to Enjolras that much.

Grantaire wasn’t still avoiding Enjolras. It was just that they hadn’t talked in a while. She hadn’t responded to Grantaire text which was just  _fine_. Grantaire was the one who started avoiding her first. Avoidance was Grantaire’s middle name and if Enjolras wanted, she could adopt it for herself. Grantaire was fine with it.

That didn’t stop her from calling Courfeyrac and asking if she’d even be welcome.

“I swear to God you’re the stupidest person I know.” Courfeyrac sighed before hanging up on her and what the hell was Grantaire supposed to take from that.

Courfeyrac texted her five minutes later to say that she tied up Enjolras and Combeferre and she was decorating their flat whether they liked it or not.

She and Enjolras had barely spoken to each other in the past few months and she didn’t know how well received she would be if she messaged her so she hesitated briefly before texting Enjolras:

 **Grantaire:**  if ur don’t text me back im going to assume ur dead or still kidnapped

She was obviously okay because she instantly replied.

 **Enjolras:**  I’m going to kill Courfeyrac :)

It was precise, terrifying had no spelling mistakes and perfect grammar so there was no denying that it came from Enjolras herself. She decided not to interfere and just told Jehan.

“Guess we’re both going to the New Year’s party.”

Jehan’s one thousand watt smile was enough to let her know she was making the right decision.

 

The next day she called Bahorel- and more importantly Bahorel’s car- to do her a favour. After Bahorel gave her one of her famous bear hugs and probably bruised some of her ribs, she yelled at Grantaire for losing contact with her for two fucking months. “Don’t ever do that again you fucking bastard!”

After she was properly chastised and she heartedly gave her word that she would go to the pub with her soon, Bahorel let her pack eight mini canvases shoddily wrapped with gift paper, in the backseat of her car and told her to give them out to the designated people. It was hard enough for her to be there when she gave them to the people she was closest to and see their expressions first-hand, she wasn’t about to go through that again.

Hours later, when she got the flurry of text messages thanking her (and just a series of exclamation points that came in three messages from Courfeyrac) she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

(Enjolras only texted her a smiley face and she couldn’t stop grinning about it for the rest of the day.)

 

* * *

 

 

Cosette, Eponine and Jehan planned to pregame before the party, but she decided against it to the shock of everyone, herself included. She wanted to be at least partially sober for when she saw En- her friends for the first time in two months.

As a result, she showed up with one tipsy and two drunk people at the door with a smile and a “Happy New Year!”

Courfeyrac seemed pleased so Grantaire didn’t worry about it. She just let them all tumble into the house clumsily.

The irritation that seeped through Enjolras’ text finally made sense when she walked inside. It looked like hundreds of tiny, little elves, the ghost of St. Nick, Jack Frost and Rudolph the fucking red nose reindeer had a frat party, jacked off and came all over the flat.

“You’ve always had a way with words Grantaire.” Courfeyrac said with a laugh, taking her arm. “I don’t think it’s that bad really.”

There was a small enough tree in the middle of the living room decorated to the nines. There were fake snowflakes, and fairy lights draped across the walls. There was a wreath hanging up on the front door, but inside as opposed to outside and there was tinsel thrown all over the room.

The room was a mass of red and green and gold behind white walls. Grantaire was weirdly pleased about it.

She was just about ready to tease and ask either Enjolras if their rule about colourlessness in all aspects of her life was one that she broke only around the holiday season but she didn’t see her about.

Everyone else was scattered around the room dressed like they were going to paint the town. Grantaire found it hilarious because it was just about over a dozen of them in the Christmassy room and they were all wearing mini dresses and sequined halter tops and form fitting jeans and heels and Grantaire was absolutely certain that this was another thing she could place all on Courfeyrac.

Bossuet and Musichetta were by the table that had all the alcohol and Grantaire had talked herself out of walking over there the minute she set foot through the door. Feuilly, Joly and Combeferre were sitting next to each other on the couch and they looked engrossed in whatever conversation they were having. Cosette bounded over to Marie with an eager if somewhat dazed beam while Eponine trailed behind her amused.

Jehan was ambushed by Bahorel’s lips on hers and her eyes were wide when Bahorel pulled away with a grin.

“Mistletoe.” Her eyes were slightly glazed over and she was grinning so obviously someone was being heavy handed with the liquor tonight.

Grantaire looked up and sure enough, every high spot in the apartment was littered with mistletoe.

Jehan smiled at Bahorel warmly and Grantaire was a good enough friend that she decided not to tease her until later and let Courfeyrac lead her away from the two, who were still standing together closely.

Bossuet yelled when she saw them and ran over to Grantaire and squeezed the living daylights out of her, lifting her off the floor slightly swinging her from side to side.

“I missed you asshole!” She bellowed right in her ear.

“Put me down!” Grantaire said in an almost squeal as she was hauled over Bossuet’s shoulder.

“Never!” She replied dragging Grantaire over to Musichetta who was bent over laughing at the both of them. Joly upon hearing the commotion, walked over and instead of helping her she joined Musichetta and Courfeyrac in laughing at Grantaire’s misfortune. Bastards. The lot of them.

Grantaire hammered her tiny fists on Bossuet’s back until she relented and let her down.

“Sorry tiny human.” She said unapologetically with a shrug to the apparent delight of everyone surrounding her.

Grantaire poked her tongue out with a pout as she righted the dress that Cosette convinced (read: forced) her to wear.

Grantaire has never been the type of girl who wore dresses but Cosette insisted much to Grantaire and Eponine’s misery.

"Courf said to dress up and we're  _all_  fucking dressing up or so help me!"

Still. Eponine rocked the black halter dress way better than Grantaire ever could her green one.

“You’re all the worst.” Grantaire huffed without any real frustration.

“Grantaire the minute you stop pretending you don’t love us with all your heart the easier all of this will be.” Courfeyrac said cheerily as she poured herself a drink.

She was in the middle of laughing while Joly and Courfeyrac were squeezing her from both sides when Enjolras came out of her room. She was dressed completely casually unlike everyone else. She was wearing a silly woolly red sweater with a snowman on the front, blue jeans and flats and she did what she did best. She stood out.

Grantaire felt like she was getting bewitched by this creature for the first time again, except this time she knew her. She knew that it wasn’t the alcohol that made her seem stunning and otherworldly, it was the girl herself.

“I thought that only happened in the movies. I can literally taste the slow motion.” She heard Bossuet muttering under her breath but Grantaire didn’t have the mental capacity to listen to her. Not when she was turning around swiftly, pouring herself some wine (and thankfully Courfeyrac put out the good stuff) and trying to school her face back into its previous fond amusement. She was so busy trying to control her emotions ( _Damn her expressive face!_ ) that she didn’t notice when Enjolras saddled up next to her until she heard her speak.

“Hey.” She said with a tiny smile.

“Enjolras.” Grantaire said with a smile and that seemed to be all her brain was willing to produce.

( _Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras_ )

“How’ve you been?” She asked and Grantaire shrugged in response. ( _Enjolras_ )

“And... your holiday? Was it fun?” Enjolras was incredibly bad at small talk, but Grantaire was literally standing there in front of her trying to remember how to say the word “Fine” so she was in no position to judge.

“Dammit Grantaire I’m  _trying_ , can you just-” Enjolras cut herself off and took a deep breath. “I want to talk to you and you’re not making it easy.”

Grantaire glanced around at the people who were openly gawking at them (Courfeyrac and Bossuet) and other people who were sneaking surreptitious glances (everyone else) and replied- “I want to- I mean in private.”

Enjolras nodded her agreement and led Grantaire to her room, both of them ignoring someone’s audible groan.

Grantaire really meant the balcony or the kitchen or something, but this was just as good. Enjolras room looked exactly the same except for where there was Grantaire’s portrait hung on the wall next to her dresser. Grantaire had just expected her to put it under her bed or on top of her wardrobe or something like that, but she had it on display. Her throat dried up and something she kept trying not to name swelled up in her chest.

They sat on opposite sides of Enjolras’ bed sitting next to each other, neither of them moving closer to the other like they usually would. They just looked at each other hesitantly.

“It’s beautiful, you know. Your painting.” Enjolras said, her eyes trained on the spot where the painting of her was hanging. “For someone who believes in nothing, you’re able to put a lot of love onto paper. I didn’t even realize it was supposed to be me at first. I don’t mean that as an insult! The likeness is amazing, I just- it's extraordinarily beautiful. I don’t even look human in it.”

“You don’t in person either.” Grantaire smirked for no one’s benefit but her own.

“Of course I-“

“Enjolras please.” Grantaire sighed. “I understand modesty, but do you think I compared you to a Greek goddess the moment I met you because I wanted to get laid? I don’t randomly quote Greeks to get some ass okay. You’re stunning. You’re like the literal embodiment of a deity.”  
  
“Grantaire.” Enjolras sounded at a loss for words and Grantaire looked at her, confused. Sure, Enjolras was content a lot of the time to be silent and let her friends discuss even the most random things, but she never lacked for words.

“ _Your_  gift was abhorrent by the way.” Grantaire said changing the topic swiftly.

It seemed to work because Enjolras scoffed and turned towards Grantaire. “Of course you’d say that. Our history is beautiful yes, but we’ve come a long way and we’re supposed to look back and acknowledge our failures  _and_  triumph in our successes, not mock the land from which we came. Not that I’d expect you to understand that. You believe in nothing.”

“I believe in good wine and good company.” Grantaire shot back. “Last time I checked, that wasn’t  _nothing_.”

“Nothing of consequence.” Enjolras replied haughtily and Grantaire couldn’t stop herself from bursting out in laughter. They were basically having the same conversation they had when Grantaire first came to The Musain. Even Enjolras looked slightly amused.

Grantaire placed her hands on top of Enjolras’ and Enjolras laced their fingers together. Grantaire brought their hands up to her mouth and kissed the back of Enjolras’ hand before resting it back on the bed.

“I feel like I should be apologizing for something.” Enjolras said her eyes trained on their joined hands.

“Me too actually.” Grantaire shook her head slightly and her hair fell in front of her face. She was in the mood to cut that shit off again. She brushed the curls out of her face and focussed her attention on Enjolras. “But I’m not sure what.”

Enjolras nodded like it made sense.

“Maybe we should take a break?” Grantaire suggested at the same times Enjolras was saying,

“Maybe we should start over?”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing all this time?” Enjolras asked her face crumpling in consternation.

“I don’t-I really don’t know what we’re doing anymore Enjolras.”

“We’re being us.” Enjolras shrugged like it was that simple.

And maybe it was because everything happened the way it usually did with them after Enjolras said that.  _We're being us._

When she lowered Enjolras onto the pillow and kissed her, Enjolras gasped into her mouth instantly. 

“I-ah” Enjolras huffed as Grantaire started paying attention to her jaw line.

“Tell me.” Grantaire said kissing a bruise onto her neck.

“I missed this.” Enjolras sighed, turning her face so Grantaire would have better access and Grantaire rewarded her with soft kisses peppered down her neck.

Grantaire slid her hands up Enjolras’ blouse and Enjolras got with the program quickly, lifting herself up enough for Grantaire to take her sweater off and unhook her bra and throw them on the floor. She was sure Enjolras was going to have a problem with that when they were done but at the moment she didn’t care and she was pretty sure Enjolras didn't either. She wanted no barriers between them as much as Grantaire did. Grantaire took her own dress off swiftly and unbuckled her bra and it joined Enjolras’ clothes on the ground.

She rolled off of Enjolras to shimmy out of her panties before returning her attention back to Enjolras. Her hands slid down to Enjolras’ denim covered ass and squeezed it playfully before unbuttoning her jeans and dragging it off none too gracefully.

She parted her legs and cradled Enjolras’ hips with her thighs and Enjolras’ hand scrambled to grab onto her back. They finally had just skin on skin and Grantaire hovered over her mouth delicately before kissing her softly, the way she always wanted to. Her tongue brushed Grantaire’s lips and Grantaire bit back a moan as she parted her lips and let Enjolras’ tongue get free roam of her mouth. It didn’t take too long before her kisses started getting more desperate. Enjolras arched into her chest, taking her hungry kisses eagerly.

A warm heat was beginning to creep up her spine and she could feel herself starting to struggle for air but who needed to breathe anyway? Air was irrelevant. The only thing in the world that mattered was her lips never leaving Enjolras’.

“I want to fuck you so bad.” Grantaire mumbled into her mouth, slipping her hands in Enjolras’ underwear and running a finger up her cunt from her entrance to her clit feeling the wetness.

Enjolras was in the habit of making her get toppy.

“Do it.” Enjolras groaned as Grantaire pulled her finger away. She dragged her simple, white briefs off and it fell god knows where, all Grantaire was concerned about was her hands on Enjolras and the way Enjolras was looking at her, like she didn’t want to see anything else ever again.

She returned to pressing frantic kisses all over Enjolras’ neck and down her chest.

Enjolras grabbed onto her shoulders tightly as Grantaire’s mouth found her breasts. Her tongue swiped over a hardened nipple and Enjolras choked out a cry. Grantaire lavished attention on her other breast and Enjolras’ harsh pants made Grantaire groan as she felt herself start to dampen.

“Make love to me Grantaire.” Enjolras sighed breathlessly looking up at her with heavy lidded eyes and a dazed smile. “Please.”

And how could Grantaire deny a request like that?

Grantaire kissed a trail down her stomach and pressed a kiss to Enjolras' hipbone. She widened her legs instinctively when Grantaire placed herself between them. She spread them wider when Grantaire started kissing the inside of her thighs gently. Enjolras thrust into the air and Grantaire grinned. She just set about biting her inner thighs tenderly while Enjolras whimpered quietly.

Enjolras was different from her. She actually liked the teasing and Grantaire had no problem obliging her. “Do you want something?” Grantaire asked pleasantly as if she was just making simple conversation and Enjolras wasn’t sitting exposed in front of her, ready for her to fuck her thoroughly. She knelt in front of Enjolras who was pleading with her eyes.

“Kiss me.”

“There are so many places I can kiss you.” Grantaire kissed her knee. “Is that what you meant?”

“You know what I meant.” Enjolras’ voice was shaky and she was pink all over but she looked Grantaire straight in the eye.

“Oh you mean here.” Grantaire said kissing the back of her knee. “Or here.” She kissed her ankle. Grantaire continued like this, kissing every inch of Enjolras’ body, sucking bruises in some places, using her tongue to make Enjolras squirm in others.

She was panting and begging by the time Grantaire actually kissed her where she wanted.

She almost jolted off the bed when Grantaire’s lips kissed her clit softly.

“Shhh.” Grantaire wrapped her hands around Enjolras’ thighs. She tasted her slowly, burying her face in the heady scent. Her tongue explored her nether regions before she pulled away and kissed Enjolras’ hipbone, biting it and sucking a bruise. Enjolras would be marked up by the end of this if Grantaire had anything to say about it.

She slipped two fingers inside of her and moved them lazily as Enjolras jerked her hips trying to find more friction.

“Has no one-fuck” She cried out when Grantaire twisted her fingers suddenly. “Has no one ever talked to you about playing with your food?”

Grantaire grinned and slowly slid her tongue around her clit, licking hot stripes to her cunt. Enjolras held her head in place, her fingers combing through her dark tresses as Grantaire glided her nose gently against her clit and her mouth moved languidly against Enjolras.

“I think you might hate me.” Enjolras moaned loudly and Grantaire rewarded her with paying more attention to her clit as she thrust into her smoothly.

Grantaire curled her fingers and her mouth worked overtime as Enjolras humped her face urgently, Grantaire could feel her coming to her climax and she sped up her movements, her hips bucking wildly and her breaths coming shorter.

Enjolras came with a broken cry and Grantaire fucked her through it letting the aftershocks wave over her.   

“I’m not done yet.” Grantaire sighed as she pulled away and  moved up to kiss Enjolras passionately, her fingers still moving inside of her as she licked into her mouth.

She knew Enjolras could taste herself on her lips and it made Grantaire moan into the heated kiss. Her fingers moved faster, crooking slightly as she fucked her evenly and Enjolras kept riding her fingers enthusiastically.

Her fingers ran through Grantaire’s hair and they kissed urgently as Enjolras gasped into her kiss with a few broken pants. Her nails dug into Grantaire’s skull as she keened into Grantaire’s mouth and came again with a wrecked moan.

 

“I can’t breathe.” Enjolras said, her breaths coming heavy as she lay on her back.

“A good fuck will do that to you.” Grantaire replied. Enjolras turned to face her and she grinned. Grantaire smiled back in return. Enjolras looked lovely like this. So carefree and happy. She wished she could make her look like this all the time instead of that sad, disappointed look that seemed to be more frequent with her.

“Your turn.” Enjolras said with a breathless laugh and it was so contagious that Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh along.

She loved when Enjolras went down on her. All her intensity and willpower just seemed to double as if there was nothing else in the world more important than making Grantaire come. In these moments Grantaire could always trick herself into thinking that Enjolras cares about her in the same way if only for some minutes. One must humour a cynic her delusions.

Enjolras kissed the inside of her thighs lightly but unlike Grantaire she didn’t waste any time in moving her mouth upwards and licking broad stripes up her cunt. Grantaire jerked her hips and she could feel Enjolras grin. Damn her.  

“Just fuck me.” Grantaire growled and Enjolras, as compliant as ever, eased a finger inside of her as her mouth continued. She pushed her tongue inside, accompanying her finger and Grantaire arched upwards as Enjolras fucked her with her tongue. She was already close from listening to Enjolras’ pretty moans and ‘fuck me’s’ and this was driving her over the edge.

“Enjolras please just-“ Grantaire whined loudly and Enjolras hummed. This was payback. She knew this was payback for the way Grantaire usually teased Enjolras to the breaking point.

Enjolras’ mouth moved to her clit and she sucked her softly holding her thighs as she tasted her leisurely. Her senses were just filled with Enjolras.

( _Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras!_ )

Some of that was making it past her lips because Enjolras pulled away and looked at her and Grantaire’s chest was heaving and her hair was tossed in her face as she moaned and Enjolras just whispered “Fuck” before pressing her tongue back down and licking Grantaire, her finger driving inside her faster as she curled it, her finger still thrusting.

When Grantaire was whimpering and Enjolras’ was holding her thighs firmly so she wouldn’t buck too wildly Enjolras added a second finger and Grantaire was coming and her hips were jerking as she cried out. 

 

When Grantaire's shuddering subsided and she could actually move again, she looked at Enjolras who was looking at her with a small smile on her face and it felt like a slap. This was why she never let herself pretend. This was why she never let herself want. And  _God_  did she want Enjolras. She turned away from her swiftly and sat up.

“We always do this, you know that right?” Grantaire asked as she grabbed her dress from the floor. Her legs were still shaky but that didn’t stop her from walking across the room looking for her things.

“Do what?” asked Enjolras as she ran her fingers through her hair trying to tame it. Not that it mattered. Sex hair just made Enjolras look even more stunning and Grantaire still hadn’t been able to figure out how that worked. How Enjolras managed to make every single look the envy of every model agency and photographer’s dream. Grantaire’s hair was a lost cause and she didn’t even bother. Inky curls were tangled and in every which direction and no desperate finger combing was going to solve that.

“We fuck instead of talking about anything.” Grantaire’s voice was a strained whisper.

“We talk-”

“No. We fuck and hope that my icky feelings go away and that everything will be fine afterwards.” Grantaire said bitterly. The acidity from before creeping back in.

“Feelings? You - I mean what feelings?”

“Can you please not pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about?” Grantaire zipped her dress up as she searched for her shoes, anything for her to not look Enjolras in the eyes.  “I’m pretty sure everyone with eyes and quite possibly the people without eyes, knows about my pathetic, unwavering devotion to you. It’s not like I haven’t tried to stop. I have. You’re just so- you. I don’t know how anyone can help but lo- You’re perfect and beautiful and you’re going to change the world and I’m me. I ruin everything. Our entire relationship for instance, and this conversation but I think-” Grantaire raised her head and actually looked at Enjolras. “I think I’m okay with that.  I thought I was okay with only having a piece of you, just tiny fragments. I really,  _really_  thought did, but I’m not. I’m sorry.”

Enjolras didn’t say anything; she just looked at Grantaire with this inscrutable gaze that made her want to fidget. “Grantaire maybe you should-”

“Don’t.” Grantaire heaved a sigh and she could feel her cheeks burning from embarrassment. “Just forget it. I’m sorry.”

Grantaire just about ran away from her after that with her heels in her hands.

She found Eponine, Joly and Bossuet, since Bahorel and Jehan were passed out on top of each other on the floor and sought to get herself as wasted as possible. The fact that those words spilled from her mouth and there was no possible hope that Enjolras was drunk and wouldn’t remember what she said made  _Grantaire_  want to forget that the night ever happened.

 

 

It worked, because when she was tired and fucking smashed beyond explanation later and she saw Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac sitting on the couch- well technically Courfeyrac was draped over Combeferre’s lap- talking to each other, she yelled Enjolras’ name and rushed towards her, only stumbling once or twice on her way over. Something gnawed at her brain, but she didn’t bother with it, she just grinned at the girls sitting in front of her. “You’re here!”

“Yes. This is my flat.” Enjolras replied cautiously.

Wow. She looked so pretty. Grantaire probably should tell her that, but the only words she could find were. “You’re really wow.”

“Thank you?”

Combeferre, who was still sitting next to them, looked like she was stifling a laugh and Courfeyrac didn’t look like she was faring any better.

Grantaire could feel her eyes start to flicker close which meant that she needed to pass out somewhere and Enjolras looked so cosy in her warm sweater and jeans. Grantaire didn’t think twice before crawling into her lap, throwing her arms around her neck and pressing her face in her hair. Her head was cloudy and it felt weighed down with something too confusing for her alcohol addled brain to decode. So she just kept nuzzling her face into Enjolras’ hair.

She loved Enjolras’ hair.

“You’ve really dumb hair.” Grantaire slurred into Enjolras’ golden locks, and fuck- they smelled so pretty. Like peaches something. She was draped all over Enjolras’ side and the part of her that still had some self preservation was screaming at herself to walk away and save her dignity, but she was hardly one to listen to reason.

“Grantaire are you-” The rest of her sentence got cut off when Grantaire started placing sloppy kisses on her cheek.

Enjolras pulled away from her grip and Grantaire pouted, but she let her shift so they were sitting next to each other, with Grantaire still pressed close to her. “Okay.”

Enjolras helped her up and dragged her across the room. Enjolras was so nice that way. She’d always help anyone that she could. Nice. That’s probably why her hair was so golden. It was full of sunshine. Those words were probably leaving her mouth because Enjolras laughed and Grantaire buried her face in her neck so she could taste it.

They both tumbled onto something soft that was probably a bed or something and Grantaire giggled, which was weird and it felt wrong because she wasn’t a  _giggler_. “You’re never wrong E, but you’re wrong about one thing you know.” Grantaire caught herself saying, her face still tucked in the crook of Enjolras’ neck.

“Grantaire just sleep okay.” She heard her voice as if it was coming from far away and she felt fingers stroking her hair.

“Of course I believe in something. I believe in you.” She mumbled into her neck as her eyes fluttered shut and finally, blessed silence.

 

Grantaire was mortified when she woke up. Enjolras was lying next to her and they were both swaddled in blankets that protected them from the cold and she was still shivering, but this was a shivering of dread as opposed to lack of heat.

This wasn’t a miracle story where she was the type of drunk to forget everything that happened the night before. No. She had all her memories stuck in her mind. She made an ass of herself, embarrassed herself, Enjolras and quite possibly the entire human race and she did it all because she refused to deal with her shit on her own.

She glanced at the sleeping blonde next to her and decided that she could chance sneaking out when she heard a voice from under the blankets.

“Are you sneaking out on me again?”

“I guess not.” Grantaire sighed and settled back against the pillows.

“Good.” Enjolras’ eyes were still closed. “Because we need to talk.”

“Can I just apologize and let us be done with it?” Grantaire pleaded.

Enjolras chose then to open her eyes and look up at her. Grantaire expected her to be mad or irritated, instead she looked sad. “If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

And um...what?

“Um...what?”

“Everything you said last night, you were-“

“Enjolras I was drunk.” Grantaire’s eyes were wide because nothing about the way this conversation was going made any sense.

“You were right. We never talk about this properly and we should. Combeferre kept telling me to talk to you, to use words instead of just being physical but I-I was a coward.“ Enjolras faced away from Grantaire and lay flat on her back.  “I like you Grantaire. A lot. I thought it was just attraction at first. I thought I could have sex with you again a few times and then I’d get over it. But I didn’t. Because I wasn’t just attracted to you. I liked you. I was falling for you and I never said anything because I was terrified of it.”

“You can’t- We  _fuck_.  We don’t talk or- that was it.” Grantaire threw her hands in the air helplessly. Her head was pounding and everything was confusing because she was pretty sure Enjolras just told her she liked her and that made absolutely no sense because- “How can you like me if you don’t know a single thing about me?”

“I know things about you. Not everything. But I want to. I want to know everything about you.” Enjolras turned to face her, propping herself up on her arm, her hair cascading down her side, falling onto the pillow like silk. “If you’ll let me.”

Grantaire sighed. "I don't know."

"I don't believe in New Year resolutions." Enjolras said calmly as if she'd thought this through beforehand. "And I don't believe in rewrites. But I do believe in change, and this year I want our relationship to be different. I  _know_  what I want. What do  _you_  want? If you want to walk away from this I'll- I'll accept it, but just tell me.  _What do you want?_ "

“I want you.” She didn’t say.

She looked at Enjolras and she knew she could do this. She could have lazy mornings with her and kiss her and touch her and love her and do it all with the knowledge that Enjolras cares about her too. She could pretend that she was sane and whole and let Enjolras believe her lie too. She could do all those things and do it without feeling an ounce of guilt. She could do it if it were anyone but Enjolras.

Enjolras didn’t deserve that.

Enjolras deserved better.

Enjolras deserved better than her.

“You can give us this chance Grantaire," Enjolras cut through her thoughts. "This chance to get to know one another, if you want to. Because this idea of me that you seem to have  _isn’t me_. I’m as flawed as you are. I’m quick tempered and I have a mean streak. When people piss me off I tell them things no one deserves to hear. I’m socially awkward. I don’t know how to read signs or hints, you literally have to spell things out for me like I'm an infant. I’m straightforward to a fault and a lot of the time I don’t think things through.”

“I don’t-“ Grantaire was trying to tear down the image of Enjolras she built up in her head and reshape it to fit what Enjolras was saying, but it was proving difficult.

“No.” Enjolras said firmly. “Let me finish. My impulsiveness gets people hurt. My bluntness hurts people’s feelings both when it is my intention and when it isn’t. I’m  _not perfect_  and I could never dream to be.”

“I...understand where you’re coming from.” Grantaire said sitting up and trying to clear the confusion that was clouding her head because she was understanding some of this. She put Enjolras up on a pedestal. She knew this. Enjolras wanted off it. She knew that was likely. Enjolras isn't flawless. She doubted that. Enjolras wanted to give them a chance to work things out together. She doubted that even more. Enjolras liked her, as a person. Sure. As a friend. Maybe. As more than a friend. Now that was impossible.

“But you don’t believe me.” Enjolras sighed.

“I’m sorry.” Grantaire ducked her head and trained her eyes on the fraying piece of thread that the end of the blanket that was covering her.

“It’s fine,” Enjolras titled her chin upwards and Grantaire tried to school her face into something less closed off and more susceptible to well- everything. Whatever Enjolras saw there, was enough to make her smile. “But I need you to be willing to try.”

“I’ll try anything for you.” Grantaire replied earnestly and Enjolras captured her lips with her own, pulled Grantaire closer to her and smiled into the kiss, neither of them seeming all too concerned with the morning breath.

 "Happy New Year." She breathed into the kiss.

Grantaire pulled away with a tentative grin and brushed Enjolras' hair back from her face before kissing her again chastely. "Happy New Year."

 

* * *

 

 

Sometime later with Enjolras holding her hand and Combeferre and Courfeyrac looking at her smugly across the table, Grantaire decided that while their relationship wasn’t just beginning and it certainly wasn’t ending and they probably both had a lot to do, this quiet middle ground felt almost peaceful and she couldn’t ask for more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just an excuse for porn to be honest. I have nothing to say for myself.


End file.
